11 Essential Herbs and Spices
by Akashic Records
Summary: Drangleic is barren, and the Flame is dying. From across the world Undead flock to this ancient land. Some are mighty warriors, others powerful sorcerers or devout clerics. Except for one. A mere cook, he is armed only with a desire to become a master chef and a tome penned by an ancestor that details the culinary secrets of this land. Food, fun, and adventure await!
1. Chapter 1: A New Arrival

**Authors notes:**

 **Dark Souls 2 Fanfiction! Instead of a mighty warrior, brilliant sorcerer, or devout cleric, the Undead who stumbles into Majula is little more than a chef. His only desire is to cook, and armed with a tome penned by his ancestor on the culinary arts and secrets of Drangleic, he'll traverse the ruins in search of food and fun.**

 **His stats are that of a Wanderer. Starting equipment: Peasant Set, Dagger, Handmaiden's Ladle, Pyromancy Glove, Combustion Pyromancy, Wooden Shield, Ring of Resistance. Gift: Healing Wares (10x Lifegem, 3x Radiant Lifegem, 1x Old Radiant Lifegem, 3x Poison Moss)**

 _Chapter 1: A New Arrival_

Majula was a dreary place. To be sure, there were far worse area in Drangleic, from the poison infested mires of the Earthen Peaks to biting chill of Eluem Loyce to the seemingly endless rain around Vendrick's castle. But Majula was worse, somehow. For instead of monsters and hollows, what the ramshackle town held was hope. Hope that someday a cure for the Curse may be found. Hope that there was a better life away from the Undead hunts. Hope that a Monarch would rise and save the world. And hope always led to suffering.

And yet, Shanalotte the Emerald Herald continued to hope. For a cure. For a better life. For a Monarch to set her free. Day after day, year after year, she stared at the flames of the last true bonfire, waiting. She waited here, because everyone came to Majula sooner or later.

People always came to Majula. It was the crossroads to the rest of the blighted land. Long ago the town had been a major stopping point, with an inn, blacksmith, stables, and a whole host of other goods and services available. A port once stood nearby, but it currently lay decrepit and death filled. Here had the first battles against the invading Giants been fought. Here had King Vendrick and countless others first stepped foot onto Drangleic, to go on and become the names of legends.

And now? Majula was a ghost town, almost literally seeing as the only ones who were not Undead were Shanalotte herself and the cat. Undead came and went. Most never to be seen again. Only a few stayed. The Crestfallen knight, Saulden, who'd come so close to becoming the Monarch, only to suffer one set of tragedy after the other and give up. The large and nearly Hollow blacksmith, Lenigrast, whose only desire is to find and protect his daughter, and who occasionally locks himself out of his own workshop. And Maughlin, the timid armorer from Volgen, who often seems to forget that the currency used in Drangleic, souls, is almost worthless beyond its borders, and useless to all but an Undead and certain powerful beings.

Only these three remained now. Oh, and Shalquoir the cat, of course. Though not an Undead by any means. She was one of the reclusive Watchers, an old, old race of felines that had supposedly been around since the First Flame itself, when the gods were first born and actual dragons roamed the skies.

With only these people as companions, it was a miracle that Shanalotte hadn't been driven mad by loneliness! All she had was her mission to keep her sane. All she had was hope, no matter how painful it was.

The crunch of gravel broke the Emerald Herald's concentration. Looking up, she saw a new Undead entering the town proper from the hill leading from the forest and those three nattering old crones and her "sister," Milibeth. Stepping into the edge of town was a youngish looking man in simple peasant's attire, with an air of excitement about him. Nothing wholly unusual, more than a few Undead sought this land willingly, be it for greed, battle lust, or self-preservation. But the joy this man held seemed… wrong. Too pure. He didn't seem to be a warrior, yet his soul was strong and bright with purity. Physically, he did not appear to be anything special. His muscles looked moderately decent, and a thatch of black hair sat unruly atop his head. Some stubble graced his chin, and calm green eyes surveyed the ramshackle settlement. As for equipment? Besides his simple spun tunic, trousers, and wide brimmed hat, he carried a wooden shield, a familiar looking ladle, and a pyromancy glove. A large, gem studded ring graced his right index finger. And upon his back was a large strapped sack, full of metal objects judging from the clanging it made as he walked.

The Emerald Herald doubted this man would be the savior. But, for now, she'd do her duty. As she mused, his eyes lit up when he spotted her and the bonfire, and he rapidly approached. Shanalotte took a deep breath, and reached into her dress for the gift as she prepared her speech.

"Are you… the next monarch? Or … merely a pawn of fate? Bearer of the curse, I will remain by your side. Till this frail hope shatters. Take this with you. May it ease your journey. Go on, and seek the King. He who made Drangleic what it once was; he who peered at the essence of the soul. King Vendrick."

"Why, thank you so much! Really, is this for me? So kind of you!" Shanalotte was completely thrown by the new comers upbeat attitude, and by him shaking her hand vigorously after taking the dull green Estus flask from her.

"I'll admit, I was afraid I wouldn't find many people out here who aren't completely barmey! Not to be rude to the elderly, but those three grandmothers up the hill? Clearly playing without a full deck of cards, if you know what I mean. Though their maid seemed nice. Gave me this ladle as thanks for getting rid of a trio opf big ugly cyclops's!"

"You… killed three Ogres? By yourself?" The Emerald Herald was confused, and spoke the first thing that came to mind. Could she have misjudged him? The young man scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Not really. See, two of them chased me away from this coffin thing, but feel off of a cliff and died, while the third slipped in the mud near the creek and sort of impaled itself on a bunch of branches," the new comer admitted, to which the only response is a blank, disbelieving look from Shanalotte.

"You killed three Ogres by accident?"

"Yes. Oh, by the way, the names Erik Potts, chef extraordinaire of Lindelt! A pleasure to meet you!" The man, Erik, gave a bow to the stunned woman in front of him, before he took her hand and kissed it in greeting. The action snapped her out of her confusion and she yanked her hand away, fighting down a blush.

"Oh! Pardon me, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable," Erik mumbled despondently at her reaction.

"Bearer of the curse, seek misery. For misery will lead you to greater, stronger souls. You will never meet the king with a soul so frail and pallid," Shanalotte all but hissed. She was not happy. This buffoon was not the next Monarch. There was no chance in Heaven! Now, she just wanted him gone.

"I see, look, I do not fully understand what that all means. I thought that King Vendrick had died," Erik said, confused.

"If you want to find a cure for the Curse, then you will need to obtain powerful souls," the Emerald Herald uttered through clenched teeth. "Finding a cure will also save the world. Do you understand that?"

"Well, yes, but I'm not really interested in finding a cure or anything. I'm not the roving warrior type, after all. I'm just a cook."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well, you see, long ago my ancestor, Donovan Potts, came to Drangleic, and he too was a chef. He cooked fabulous feasts for not just King Vendrick, but also the Iron and Ivory kings. He compiled a book of recipes, and passed them on to his son. And now, generations later, here I am, to cook the dishes Donovan Potts once made! I shall scour the land to find the ingrediants he used, and I will make the ultimate meal, fit for a king!" Erik exclaimed, proudly showing the once more speechless Emerald Herald a worn, ratty book he removed from a pouch on his belt. On closer inspection, there were traces of magic in the parchment, which explained how it had not deteriorated with age. It was simple, but clearly well-loved and read.

"Oh ho! Such a rare soul indeed! One who'd rather cook than kill. Such a refreshing change of pace." A charming, melodic voice spoke up, causing the chef to blink in confusion before looking around. He looked down eventually, and came face to whiskers with a white and brown cat.

"Oh. Hello there. Did you just talk?" Erik inquired.

"Indeed I did, good sir. Are you not surprised?"

"Well, I can't die due to becoming an Undead being, I was dragged here through a magical whirlpool, and I somehow slew three monsters by accident. So far, a talking cat seems fairly normal."

A sweet, clear laugh swept the area, the cat having found it all very amusing.

"Oh, what a find! What a precious gem! I like you, young man! Let me give you some advice, since our dear Emerald Herald seems to be shell-shocked. Go north, to the forest. There, you'll find an old castle. Many an artifact can be found there, as well as a few potential ingredients. If you really do have dear old Donovan's recipes, you'll find what you need as you travel without much fuss!"

"Thank you very much, miss, uh…"

"Shalquoir is my name, young Undead. If you should ever need me, you can find me taking a cat nap in that house over there," the talking animal said with a chortle at her own pun. "I might just have some items you'll find useful. If you have the souls for them, of course."

"Thank you, miss Shalquoir, for your help! I'll be sure to take you up on your offer some day. And a good day to you, miss. And once more, thank you for the bottle. I'd needed something to store my liquids in!"

Erik Potts walked away in the direction the Memory Watcher had given him, and soon he disappeared in the distance, unaware of the howls of laughter coming from the cat, nor the piercing glare from the immortal at his complete misunderstanding of the green container.


	2. Chapter 2: A Forest and a Hag

Chapter 2: A Forest and a Hag

The path up through the Giant's Forest was surprisingly navigable. Erik had thought that having been left abandoned, it would have grown into an impenetrable tangled mess. To his pleasant surprise, this was not the case. Sure, most of the foliage was dense, but a bit of a clear path had been created by the river, and by the numerous Hollows that hacked away at anything in their path. These two factors gave the chef a decent path to follow. So far, he'd only had to set a few Hollows on fire with his Combustion pyromancy. At first, he'd felt a twinge of regret and hesitation at attacking something that had once been human. That faded somewhat after he was nearly hacked to pieces by a few Undead soldiers, though he still couldn't help but shout "Sorry!" after each kill.

All the chef had to defend himself with was a dagger, the ladle, the wooden shield, and his magical flames. He did surprisingly alright, though. The ladle was stronger than it had first appeared, made of some sort of stone-like wood, making it an effective club. He winced every time he used it as a weapon though. Erik doubted this was what the maid, Milibeth he believed her name was, had given it to him for. Or maybe it was.

Erik also couldn't help but flush in embarrassment the first time he'd stopped at one of the old bonfires scattered about. The flames had called to him, and he'd felt invigorated after resting by it. After he stood though, he found that the green bottle the woman had given him back at the ruined settlement was now fully of pulsing golden fluids. Liquid flames, he realized. The legendary elixir known as Estus that could mend the wounds of an Undead with just a sip! He felt foolish having thought it was just another simple container. When he got back to Majula, he'd need to apologize to the person who'd given it to him. And ask for her name. He hadn't remembered to ask for it.

Here and there he also found some interesting plants, some of them detailed in his ancestor's book! Brightly colored chestnut-like burrs, in colors of red, yellow, and blue, were plucked from the ground here and there. According to the book and his own experience the colors represented what elements the burrs could resist once ingested. These Elemental Burrs were common in Lindelt as ingredients. Fire and Lightning were considered Holy elements to the priesthood, so consuming them was a part of rituals, while the magic resisting Blue Burrs were prized by clerics who went on witch hunts. He'd prepared dishes with these plants before. They were thorny and hard to use when raw. Elemental Burrs had to be boiled in water to soften them up first. Once this was done they made an excellent substitute for chestnuts and walnuts.

A lot of Common Fruit was also found along the way. They might be bland, but there was a secret to preparing them and giving them a sweet taste. Just dry it. The juices are what prevent the flesh from obtaining a succulent flavor. If dried and pressed, the Common Fruit was a good ration for long journeys and a sweet treat for children. Fond memories of his own childhood brushed against Erik's mind, before he shook them off and continued walking. Other simple, none magical herbs were found here and there, such as lavender, mint, sage, rosemary, and even basil! He'd be able to make some excellent dishes once he got back.

Hours passed as he trekked through the forest. But his travel was nearing an end now! Before him stood the crumbling ruins of a massive castle, overgrown with vines and moss. In spite of the state of decay, Erik was impressed. Not even the greatest cathedrals of Lindelt could match the size and scope of this fortress! And this was just a forward base! Erik could only imagine what Vendrik's palace looked like if this was what his generals commanded from!

He quit gawking with an effort, and made his way up the crumbling stairs and a rickety ladder. Soon he found himself high on a battlement, overlooking a run-down courtyard. He could vaguely see some Undead infantrymen wandering about, and wondered if he'd find anything of interest down there. He chose to put it off for now, and instead turned around and pushed open the large doors behind him. They parted surprisingly easily. Must have been used recently if they were so loose.

And that seemed to be the case! Sitting by a bonfire was a withered old woman, shrouded in long, dirty black robes and carrying a giant backpack stuffed to the brim with items.

"Oh? What's this? A traveler? My name is Melentia, a humble merchant! You a stranger to this land? All we get is strangers these days. Everybody's gone and run off! Drangleic's been a pile o'rubble since the war was fought, long ago, when the Giant's crossed the seas…" A demented giggle escapes her lips, and Erik unconsciously steps back. She simply continued speaking as if he hadn't moved. Or was even there. "Seemed like the battles would never end. Poor folk like myself had nary a place to sleep. That's why I keep all me things with me. You may travel light, but methinks you bear a burden of your own!"

"Pardon me, miss, but it sounds like you were here when the Giant's invaded. But that was centuries ago!"

"Oh yes it was, oh yes it was! I was just a slip of a girl, one of the scullery maids keeping this place clean and tidy. Met my handsome husband here too, you know, though he was a squire and I but a servant. I was actually here when the battle was fought, you know? Almost died! Keh heh heh!"

"I was not aware that the Curse of the Undead had been around so long," Erik admitted, sitting down across from the old woman, warming his soul with the bonfire.

"Oh that thing was around for a while, even before the war, but it was isolated and low key. That iron loving king in the valley had his fun by torturing them in grand coliseums, you know. It was only after the Giants were all defeated that the Undead Curse started to spread more widely. So many blamed the Giants for it, then poor king Vendrik, then each other! Oh, those were bad days!" Melentia chuckled, her attitude in opposition of her words. "I caught the Curse when I was an old granny, you know. So I ran, hiding here and there, wandering around as a poor little merchant. But now here I am, back at my home… do you think it's my fate to go Hollow here? Where it all began?"

"Don't say things like that!" Erik shouted, jumping to his feet and startling the hag. "You should never give up hope! Sure, you've lost so much, and I can only imagine the heartbreak from seeing your children and grandchildren die before you, but please! Don't give up! If you go Hollow, what would they possibly think of you?!"

The pleasant mood vanished like mist in the dawn, and a tremor wracked the old woman's body. She glared up at Erik, and he flinched back from the decayed face that stared back at him with furious eyes.

"You've only been alive for what, twenty summers? Who are you to tell me my sorrows are so light?! My husband, my children, my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren all died and all I could do was watch! To see them look at me with fear in their eyes?! How dare you tell me to go on living! How dare you?!" Melentia shouted, balling up her fists as she shook with rage. "My Dear Renard! My little Annie, my Callia, my Sierra…"

Tears fell from her hood, and her rage morphed into sadness. Erik said nothing. Instead he removed his book and started to flip through the pages, until he came to a section and quickly read through it. Then, he threw off his backpack and began to root through it, removing pots and pans from within. He then rushed out and began filling the pots with water taken from a trickling stream just outside the doors. It was clear and looked safe to drink, and once the metal container was full, he hurried back and set up a spit over the bonfire. Carefully, under the suspicious and confused watch of the merchant-hag, Erik started to boil the water with the dancing flames coming from the sword and pile of bones. He dropped some Blue Burrs into the water as it came to a boil, and then started to chop up some vegetables on the floor nearby. After a few minutes, he carefully removed the burrs with the Handmaiden's ladle, before removing a pair of Common Fruits, slicing a long cut along their sides, and then impaling them on the spit over the fire, letting them roast. The juices from the fruit dribbled out and were caught by the pot of boiling water below. Then, slowly, Erik added in the chopped vegetables. He stirred lazily while peeling the Blue Burrs, revealing the kernels inside.

This fairly unassuming brown and blue seed was the source of an Elemental Burrs magical effects. Most people just popped the whole thing into their mouth if in a hurry, but for maximum effect the kernel was what you wanted to eat, not the spikey sheath. It had the consistence of a chestnut with the crunch of a walnut, but with a very unique taste of its own; cool yet sweet, with a faint tingle on the tongue. Like mint, though much more mild.

After a bit, he proceeded to cut the kernels into smaller pieces, then tossed them into the water with the vegetables. Finally, he removed a slab of dried beef and sliced strips off of it, adding them to the soup. After a bit, he removed the spit, taking the pot and two Common Fruits away from the flames. The fruits had crisped nicely, the green flesh becoming dark with brown splotches. At last, it was done! Erik removed two bowls from his pack, filling each with some of the soup before passing it to the old woman. Melentia took it suspiciously, sniffing it as if she could detect poisons with her nose alone.

"Please, eat it, Mrs. Melentia. This is a soup recipe my great-great-something-great grandfather wrote about. He said that a kindly housewife gave it to him when he was passing through. Apparently, it had been taught to her by her own mother."

A sniff is the only response. She reaches behind her, and takes out a dirty, rusted spoon, and takes a bit of the soup. With a slurp, it is consumed. Erik took his own bowl and spoon and proceeded to eat as well, watching out of the corner of his eye as Melentia froze up at the taste. Her hands started to tremble, and more tears fell, a few splashing into the bowl before her. She started to rapidly shovel more of the soup into her mouth, weeping as she did so, muttering something to herself over and over.

"The Common Fruit's juice is bitter, which is why its normally sweet flesh tastes so bland when it is bitten into. However, this juice can be used as soup stock if you add sweet carrots, turnips, and sage to the mix. Boiled and chopped Blue Burr can give the soup a stronger flavor…" Erik said, as he explained how he made the meal.

"…by bringing out the sage's earthiness, while some nice dried and salted beef finishes the meal off, as it absorbs the myriad of flavors and adds its own meatiness to the concoction," Melentia replied, continuing Erik's explanation. "Serve hot, and with the roasted Common Fruits the juice was extracted from as desert."

"This is your recipe, isn't it? Your daughter, Annie, told Donovan that she was also waiting for you to come home. She didn't care that you'd become Cursed, she didn't hate you. She was just angry and sad that you ran away without saying a word." Erik looked at the woman as she ate and wept, muttering "I'm sorry," over and over again. After a bit, she quieted down, and finished off her bowl, before reaching out for the dried Common Fruit. The young chef wordlessly passed her the fruit, and she consumed it with trembling hands.

"What will you do now?" Erik inquired after a moment of silent eating.

"I'm going to leave this place, and return to Majula. I've been travelling too long, and I think its best I find a place to call my own once more. This ruin has naught but misery here for me," Melentia said after swallowing a mouthful of fruit. "Besides, I found that senile blacksmith's door key, and I suppose someone should return it. What about yourself?"

"I'm going to keep going and explore the rest of this castle. I'm not sure why, but something is calling to be. I feel like there is something I need to do here, something important."

"Well if that's the case, here's advice for you. Watch out for a man with a long spear and a big shield. He looks nice, but he's a little sketchy. Oh, and try not to go to the top. There's an old knight that patrols the battlements, and he utterly despises the Undead, despite being one himself. The Pursuer, a knight of Alken and demented soldier of the Old Iron King. He slew a number of Giants all by himself during the war, so do not underestimate him. So if you value your souls and humanity, keep away." Rising from the ground, Melentia removed a ring from her finger and tossed it to Erik, who caught it with a surprised look on his face.

"Payment for the meal. I won't need it anymore, but you might find it useful. It's a Covetous Silver Serpent's ring, which draws more souls to you. Be sure to spend some of them at my store when you stop by Majula again! Keh heh heh!" With another disturbing chuckle, the old hag ambled away, her figure and laughter fading into the distance. Erik smiled after a moment, before cleaning up the dishes. After he put it all away, he stood with a determined look on his face.

"Great-great-something-great grandfather… thank you. This book you wrote has allowed me to touch another person's soul, and perhaps save them from themselves. I can't thank you enough. But you know what?" Erik thrusts his ladle into the air. "I'm going to surpass you! There might not be any kings to cook for any more, but know this! My cooking will save lives! When I found the Darksign on my flesh, I despaired, because I thought it meant my life was over. But no! What it really means is I have all the time in the world to become the greatest chef to have ever lived! My name will echo through history! Cook for kings? Hah! My dishes will makes the gods themselves weep with joy! Thank you for the book, Donovan! And watch as I take Drangleic by storm!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 **Author's Notes: It won't be all fun and sunshine here in Drangleic folks. Expect healthy doses of drama, darkness, and Cooking Manga/Anime inspired wackiness in this Dark Souls 2 fanfiction. There will be lightness of course, but one can't have Dark Souls without "Dark."**


	3. Chapter 3: Sword and Spear

Chapter 3: Sword and Spear

Erik couldn't help but feel a tad embarrassed as he continued through the halls of the ruined castle. He'd shouted out those lines to the heavens full of vinegar and vigor, only to immediately regret it as a Royal Soldier Hollow dropped down from a hole in the ceiling and lunged at him. His shout had apparently woken it from its stupor, and it hungered for his souls. He was barely able to finish it off with a sharp blow to the head with the ladle and a push down another hole, and he quickly vowed not to make the same mistake twice.

Traveling down a ladder that stood nearby, fighting through more Royal Solider Hollows, and moving through dank, musty halls, he came out in some sort of inner courtyard where a number of run-down barracks stood, all girdled with roots and decay above a stagnant lake.

At the moment, he was huddled in a door frame as crossbow bolts shattered on stone next to him, puffs of dust and splinters flying up. All he had to do was make a break for the large root that looked like it could support his weight, and he'd hopefully be out of their range. But, that was the problem. There were a lot of crossbowmen taking pot shots at him.

"Great gods, will they ever run out of bolts?" Erik shouted, annoyed at the seemingly endless rain. His shield had taken a dozen of the heavier iron tipped bolts, and was in danger of completely shattering, and without it he'd been a sitting duck! Still, he had to do something! He felt the strange call pulling him deeper into the castle, but couldn't find out "where" it wanted him to go. All he knew was something was pulling at him. And right now, it beckoned up the tree branch.

Taking a deep breath to fortify his nerves, he bolted for the branch while holding his shield to the right side in order for it to absorb some of the projectiles. And true to his assessment, his shield splintered into a mess of wooden chunks under the barrage! Still, he made it, and panted in exhaustion at the top of the branch. It seemed to have led him all the way up to the next level of battlements, which had previously been cut off by rubble choking the stairs and doors elsewhere around the castle, or the oddly impenetrable doors and gates here and there. Seriously, not even his Combustion could warm up the metal bars on the door's he'd found right after clambering down the ladder next to the bonfire! Now, though, he was able to progress!

As he looked around the area, the cook spotted a small ladder leading up to an elevated platform. It seemed to overlook the entire interior of the castle, and that would be a boon for setting up further advances in the area. A single Royal Soldier Hollow stood on a ledge, looking down at another part of the path ahead.

"That looks like a good spot to get a better view of the area. Though that soldier may need to be removed…" Erik mused, before taking a few steps up the ladder and slamming into the soldier from behind who was standing overlooking another part of the roof, with his back turned. The chef's dagger bit deep, and with a twist of the blade, the body went limp. Over in moments, the adrenaline in Erik's ears caused him to miss a distant bird call. He did not, however, miss the sudden crash of metal behind him. Spinning around, the first thing he noticed was a towering man in thick full plate armor, carrying a sword taller than the young Undead cook. Weapons and shields were lashed haphazardly to the knight's back, while he seemed to float a foot or so off the ground.

Erik froze. This was not something he could defeat. Even if he had better armaments, his general lack of skills was nothing before this warrior! In his fear addled mind, Melentia's warning rose up.

"Pursuer," Erik whispered in fearful awe. It tilted its head to side, as if judging him, before darting forward faster than the Undead could see! The next thing he knew, pain flooded his body as the great sword punched clear through his chest, out of his back, and through the backpack. The sound of ripping fabric tore through the still, almost motionless air, followed quickly by the clattering crash of falling pots and pans and utensils.

"Gurk…" There wasn't much Erik could say at this point. His lungs and throat were filling with rank, blackish blood, and his limbs felt like lead. The armored monster proceeded to lift the impaled Undead and growl with a deep metallic, animalistic noise no human could have produced. The blade started to feel hot and currents of pain arced through its victim, before a burst of blinding blue light tore at his senses. The light faded, leaving nothing but darkness, and Erik fell, plunging down towards a screaming pit of fire. He wanted to scream, to cry out, and he did.

With a start, Erik shot up, gasping for breath. He looked around wildly, before realizing he was back in the chamber with the bonfire.

"What just happened?" He mused, staring deep into the flames before him. He distinctly remembered being stabbed right through by that massive armored knight, and then the sword had glowed, and then he'd… exploded? Was that what happened? But, why was he back at the bonfire then? The first time he'd died, it had been back in Lindelt. He'd reanimated in the ally where his killer had tossed the body, and had wandered home in a daze. His skin had withered and felt as if he'd aged decades instantly, but other than that, nothing had changed. What was so special about this burning pile of bones and metal?

He staggered to his feet, only to stumble as he felt the weight of his backpack. Blinking in surprise, he twisted his neck to get a look, and sure enough, there it was, completely undamaged. He removed it and checked through the contents. Nothing was missing! But he had definitely heard some of his cooking implements clatter to the floor! Even his shirt, which had been pierced, was whole! What was going on? As he examined himself, he noticed how his hands had turned a dark green, as if under the effects of rot and necrosis! This definitely hadn't happened when he'd died back home! What in the name of the Gods was wrong with this land?

Now that there was a moment of relative calmness, Erik noticed a strange, gnawing sensation in him. It felt like hunger, but was situated up in his chest, and his heart. Was it from the sword wound? He rubbed his hands over his chest, trying to feel for something, anything, he may have missed, but nothing stood out. Was this a reaction to dying? He proceeded to look inwards. A technique, skill, or whatever one wants to call it, there was a way for Undead to "see" themselves. To know, intimately, how much power they had, how many souls they'd collected, and how close they were to Hollowing. Erik had found this ability early on in his journey to Drangleic, and thought it an amusing parlor trick at best. Now, though, he could see just how useful it actually was! He could see his souls, or rather, lack of them. Death seemed to have stripped them from him, and now the dull emptiness he felt was a direct correlation to that. He shook his head. So, yet another issue of being Undead. Oh joy!

Looking around, everything seemed to be in place, and he moved over to the ladder once more. Descending, he found that the Royal Soldier Hollows had also reanimated, and in the same general area as he'd first encountered them. As he fought them, he noticed how they seemed to follow the exact same pattern of attack as when he'd first done battle with them, and now, knowing how they moved, they became even easier prey for him. Tossing one off the edge into the pit where sweltering heat billowed up, and jamming his dagger through the visor of the other, and he was soon moving on to where the crossbowmen had been before, their souls sating the emptiness, at least for now. A few more Hollows later, and he was dashing up the branch, hunched low to avoid being hit. Oddly enough, his shield was the only item on him that remained broken. Was it perhaps because it had sundered before he'd been butchered by the Pursuer? But that didn't make a lot of sense. Unless whatever odd effect had teleported and restored his body could only work if it was repairing damage from the cause of the death…

The chef shook his head clear of those thoughts. This was not the time to think about such things! No was a time to move on! Moving on down the battlements, he adamantly refused to venture up the ladder a second time, just in case the Pursuer came back. He noticed a pulsing green flame and a strange, writhing patch of blackish blood up top, but ignored it. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth the risk of being penetrated by several feet of steel again!

Across the battlements, he dodged the slow lunges of yet more Royal Soldier Hollows before coming to another ladder, this one leading down. A quick survey of the area revealed no immediate threats, though there was a suspicious man with a long spear leaning against the wall some ways away from the ladder. Hadn't Melentia also warned about someone like that? After being caught off guard by the Pursuer, Erik was not going to take any chances, and treat this man as a foe until further notice.

Down the ladder Erik went, being careful to keep an eye out for anything or anyone who might pose a problem or threat. In the alleyway, he peered around doors, and saw more than a few Hollows, mostly of Royal Soldiers, but there was a large, bulky warrior clad in extremely thick and heavy looking armor guarding a door. The armor looked inferior to the Pursuer's, but the chef did not doubt that the massive mace it carried could pack a very deadly punch. Cautiously, Erik approached the spearman, and when he did not move, only turning his head slightly to look at the new arrival, and Erik came even closer. As the chef did so, he noted that there was a large square tower shield leaning against the wall next to the man, and the spearman in question was dressed in simple leather armor. He looked as if he might be bald under the helmet, as well. Other than that, though, he seemed average all around.

"Oh, hello. You're a new face. Come seeking treasure have you? Though you don't exactly look the part," the spearman said in a dry and dull monotone, though with a hint of pleasantness.

"I'm a chef, not a treasure seeker. I'm here because I was told there might be items of value for my goal of cooking grand feasts," Erik explained, causing the eyebrows on the man to shoot up under his leather helmet.

"A chef, truly? Well that is certainly an odd thing to be out here. Let me guess; the cat told you to come here, did she not?" At Erik's expression, the man laughed, though it was without mirth.

"She's a clever kitty, working so hard to help the Undead. Of course, her 'help' is why I'm here right now. Me and my… partner… were scouring the castle for treasure, when he got caught in a trap. I shall wait here, and see if he returns, but be sure to take everything she says with grains of salt. She has only one allegiance, and that is to herself and her own goals, whatever they may be."

"Oh, and I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Pate, a wanderer and treasure hunter."

"I am Erik Potts, of Lindelt," Erik introduced in return. The spearman's eyes narrowed as he seemed to glare at the young Undead after hearing about his country of origin, before settling down.

"Forgive me, but I am not too fond of clerics. Though if you were one, you're extraordinarily bad at trying to hide. Yes, you're a chef alright, no cleric would have hands like that," Pate explained, eyeing the callouses on Erik's hands.

"I understand," Erik said, secretly wondering what would cause such animosity. He knew not all members of the churches and faiths were kind or forgiving, and Erik had cooked for more than a few who could only be called thugs, if not monsters. But in Lindelt, where the Church was the State, it was easier to keep your head down at the sight of robes and the ringing of chimes.

"If you're heading deeper into Drangleic, take these," Pate suddenly said, holding out a chalk-white shard of stone and a spur of fire-orange stone. The chef's eyes widened, and he took them almost reverently.

A White and Orange Soapstone! Precious artifacts, used by high ranking clergy to commune with the gods and each other, at least in Lindelt. He knew they were used elsewhere, but he'd never seen one up close, let alone hold one! White Soapstones could bend space and time, allowing one to summon figures to your side, as long as they allowed it. Orange, on the other hand, could be used to write messages that transcended time and space, giving warnings of ambushes days in advance, or quickly relaying information from leagues away! Such incredibly potent items, and this man was giving them away?!

"I see I've made your jaw drop," Pate chuckled, seeing Erik's dumbfounded expression. "Here in Drangleic, where the souls of gods and mighty kings and terrible beasts once resided, reality is malleable in ways you can only dream of elsewhere. Without either of those Soapstones, you'll likely find your travels through this land difficult without allies. Here, see over there? Hold the Orange Soapstone and tell me what you see."

Clutching the colored stone, Erik peered over to where Pate was pointing. It was a raised portcullis, leading into another part of the castle some ways away. Where there had once been bare dirt in front of the gate, now lay a glowing message, as if written from fire! Approaching, Erik could see the words "Trap ahead!" scrawled on the ground. He looked back at Pate, who nodded.

"Had my partner and I checked our Soapstones, we could have avoided the traps. Try not to get yourself killed out here, will you? And if you see my comrade, tell him I still have his ring."

"Of course, thank you!" Erik said, giving a polite bow towards the reclining spearman. He just nodded, before looking off into the distance. Maybe Melentia had been wrong, or this wasn't the spearman she was referring to.

With a wave goodbye, Erik headed off towards where the bulky mace-wielder had been. A few messages from other travelers seemed to be pointing in that direction, and with nothing better to do, he followed.

As he left, he completely missed the smirk that crossed the lips of the vagabond spearman. 

**_Author's notes: The reason why Pate does not trick Erik into the trapped area is because he does not see any value in it. Our chef carries little of value, save perhaps his magic ring and tome, and he likely wouldn't hold up to the repeated assaults of the Hollows and thus be unable to acquire treasure Pate could later steal. As such, he's just hedging bets right now, giving the Undead a reason to trust him, and perhaps be useful later on._**


	4. Chapter 4: A Giant Feast

Chapter 4: A Giant Feast

"Great Gods! Why are there so many of the damn blighters?!" Erik snarled, igniting yet another Royal Solider Hollow with his flames, before bashing its skull in with the ladle. Venturing deeper in the castle, Erik had been ambushed by numerous Hollow and ended up dying at least twice more to their attacks. He soon learned that the glowing green fire was a pile of souls; his own, in fact, from when he'd been killed. It seemed they lingered for a bit, oddly enough. Why the Hollows didn't take them he didn't know, but when he touched the emerald flames they returned to him. Currently Erik had gone full circle. He'd found some keys, and opened some doors, one of which led straight back to the ladder that lead up to the bonfire he'd been at before. There was sparingly little of use for him. Some armor that looked rusted and worn was unlikely to defend him, plus it was heavy. He did grab a dented but still usable metal shield though to replace his broken wooden one. The most useful items were small stack of Amber Herbs and Green Blossoms, which he'd giddily stuffed into his pack, some of the so-called "Human Effigies," a bunch of Titanite including a rare Slab and some of the Twinkling variety, a few vials of Aromatic Ooze that could be used to enchant weapons or add flavor to a meal, a shard of green glass that looked like and reacted to his Estus Flask, and another magical ring that quickly restored his stamina. The latter he put on his fingers almost instantly. Most important of the items he found was a seed that seemed to be made of petrified wood. His eyes had widened when he saw that. A Seed of a Tree of Giants! His ancestor had only ever found a few of these himself, and used them all in incredible dishes. This one large seed could be used to cook the most elusive of foods; Souls themselves! Everyone could absorb souls, though only certain people could use them, aside from the Undead. And if it could be consumed like that, why not cook it as well? And so Donovan had made a name for himself amongst the lords of Drangleic for being able to actually cook and prepare the essence of life itself. Erik would not be beaten, though! He could do the same, all he needed was a large supply of souls to work with.

And Erik had found souls, lots of them, some in clumps on strangely unmoving bodies, others from vanquishing his attackers. The silver ring Melentia had given him helped here, dragging more souls out of the victim than usual. Not sure how it worked, but he didn't really care.

Traveling and wandering led him through the castle, and after meeting an odd man who claimed to be a traveling cartographer, he was pointed in the direction of where the "call" urged him forward.

Now, Erik had made it to an odd looking contraption. It was hooked up to chains, and lowered and raised itself by tapping a panel with one's foot, where gears and levers would move it. Riding the strange device, he was lowered to a deep, earthen corridor, where a Royal Soldier Hollow had jumped at him. Badly wounded, he swallowed a mouthful of Estus, gasping in pleasure as his wounds knitted themselves back together. He was out now, though. He didn't particularly want to head back up to the bonfire, either. It seemed that whenever he rested at the flames, the Hollows would reanimate, as if influenced by his actions by the fire. One more thing to hate about Drangleic.

He had a number of Lifegems though, and they would do for now. Walking ahead, he was soon stopped in his tracks by a swirling vortex of fog that seemed to block off the corridor. Confused, he raised a hand to touch it, and instantly regretted it as the mist latched onto him and dragged him through!

Pulled through the grey vortex, the mist clung to him and pushed at him, forcing Erik to the other side. Whatever that stuff was, it was both warm and freezing, with a consistency like thick smoke and pudding all rolled into a single substance.

Once through, Erik stumbled for a moment, caught off guard, before straightening up. All at once his vision blurred, and waves of red slammed against him.

Blood lust! Overwhelming blood lust! And it was all coming from the cyclopean being lying impaled and battered on the floor of the cave in front of him. The creature was tall, easily standing over twenty feet in height. Its skin was ash grey and mottled like the bark of a tree. In the center of its head, there was not a single facial feature, just a vast, gaping pit that likely served some wholly esoteric purpose. It was a Giant! There could be no mistake! Erik had heard of them and seen pictures before, but to actually see it in the flesh? It was awe-inspiring and terrifying all at once. With a moan, it staggered to its feet, wrenching itself free from the pillar that had impaled it. How long had it been down here, Erik wondered. The war against the Giants had been bloody and fierce but also relatively short, less than half a decade in fact. The King of Giants was slain by an unknown warrior during the final assault of Drangleic Keep, and without it the rest either fled or were routed. This Giant must have been down here since the battle at this very castle, so centuries at least! And it still lived!

All his thoughts quickly dissipated as a massive fist swung at him, and the chef threw himself to the side in panic.

"Stop, please! I don't want to fight you!" Erik cried, weaving away from another blow, this time a heavy stomp.

"I feel your anger, but the war is over! You're people have left this land! Please, return to them!" Erik attempted to appeal to the Giant again, but failed. Instead, it lashed out with its fist again, trying to bludgeon the cook into paste. He dove between its legs in response, and ended up rolling in a jumbled pile of rubble. Erik winced at the pain, but shook it off. The fists of the Giant would likely hurt much more, so he had to keep moving. A guttural, booming roar sounded, and the Giant pivoted, swing its arms like a blade in an attempt to strike the Undead who'd intruded on it. The blow struck the rubble at an awkward angle, and it reeled back from the force of its own impact. Erik had already started running as he witnessed the wind up, and as a result was far enough away to peer back and observe what happened next. With a groan of grinding stone, the teetering wreckage that had stood in the corner of the cave collapsed, toppling down onto the Giant and pinning it beneath tones of stone, wood, and dirt. It screamed, struggling to escape but it was all in vain. The weight was too much, and the Giant much too weak from its old wounds to do more than twitch. It moaned, a pained sound of loss and agony, and Erik winced as it boomed about the cave.

The beast was stuck, trapped once more, yet there was no way out for the Undead. The strange fog that had pulled him in still stood, and he doubted it would let him go easily. He could try climbing the rubble to escape, but that looked to be a dangerous idea, especially with a Giant pinned under it. What did the fog want? Erik looked around, swallowing a lump in his throat. Suddenly, he knew. The only way he was getting out was if one of them died. It might have just been his imagination, but a tickle of vindictive amusement entered his mind, and the chef was certain it was not his own.

Trembling, Erik raised a hand, and a flickering orb of flame danced to life. He stepped forward on shaky legs, staring at the Giant that lay helpless before him. He could do it. A few Combustions to the face and the dagger could do it, especially seeing as it was injured and unable to move.

The Giant, sensing his footsteps, twisted its head to stare back at Erik, the dark empty void for a face somehow conveying a host of emotions towards the Undead.

Anger. Fear. Longing. Pain. It was transmitted to the young man, and he whimpered as he came to a halt, staring back at the Giant. He dropped his hand, and the fire extinguished itself without his will supporting it.

"No. Not like this," Erik growled, and he threw off his backpack and began to root through it, rattling the items around inside. A quizzical grunt echoed forth from the Giant, who could only stare in confusion at the human.

They were enemies, weren't they? It was kill or be killed, the atrocities committed by both sides leaving that the only option. He'd heard the human as it dodged. Something about the war being over, and his kin fled? If that was true, then why spare him? He knew what the damned King's brother had done, what his wife had done! What they all had done! He knew what happened to prisoners of war that fell into the human's hands. The combatants in the frozen north had told stories of how the corpses of their comrades were dissected and turned into necromantic effigies by the sorceries of the Chaos Keepers! The King of Iron had peeled away their skin and fused it with molten metal to create his hideous Ironclad Golems and Smelter Demons! And Thrice Damned and Cursed Aldia had used their souls to build his facsimile Dragons in a vain attempt to rekindle the First Flame! All the Giants knew this, and more, which was why they'd invaded and fought to the death! But here was a human, barely more than a child, who refused to finish him off and send him to the beyond.

Why? None of the other Monarch Candidates had any qualms. They killed him, took his soul, and then he was forced to return to a pain filled life when they failed in their attempts. Over and over and over! Death, life, pain. Numerous cycles had happened, and not one had felt anything but eagerness to slay him. Why was this human so different?!

While the Giant had been lost in its thoughts, Erik had begun removing a set of cooking equipment all made of thick black metal. A pot, pan, skillet, knife, and mortar and pestle. Each crafted from the finest Titanite. It was the legacy of Donovan Potts, items he'd collected on his trip through Drangleic long ago. With these, one could cook the impossible. With these, it was possible to prepare anything! He had little water, but he only needed a bit. He poured the contents of his water skin into the pot, while he heated the water with his pyromancy. He had neither the time nor the materials to make a fire at the moment, so with extreme care he got the water to a rapid boil. Then, he removed the Seed of a Tree of Giants. As it appeared in his hands, the Giant stirred, peering at it. It knew what that object was. When a Giant perished, its body became like a miniature Arch-tree. In time, this corpse-tree would bloom and produce a single seed. This seed was filled with a Giant's soul, and could be used to birth more of their kind. But it had other uses. Aldia used them as pseudo-eggs for creating his fake Dragons, and a sorcerer or priest could use one a medium to control monsters for a while. What could this human possible want with it?

To the Giant's shock, the human raised the Titanite forged knife and began to delicately slice it open, peeling back the shell and revealing the pulpy innards. Erik than threw these bits and pieces into the boiling water and watched closely as they were cooked. The Giant was even more confused now. It became even more so when it saw the next item the chef removed!

Slowly, with almost reverent care, Erik removed a glowing blob of white flames from the inside of his own body. A Large Soul of a Proud Knight! Here, in his hands, was the legacy and essence of a man who was worthy and noble. Perhaps he had died during the siege of the castle. Maybe that was why he had found it in a locked chest. He wasn't sure, but there it was, flickering brighter than any other soul mass he'd picked up. Now, though, he lowered it into the pot of water, and gently let it slip into the bubbling pulp of the Seed of a Tree of Giants. Now came the hard part.

"In life, you were worthy," Erik intoned, repeating the word's in Donovan's book. "In death, you are nourishment. Man or beast or plant, life leads to more life, even in passing."

The water started to glow bright white as the soul seemed to react to the words, and it began to break apart, drifting and melding into the remains of the Seed.

"I am no knight, yet I handle death. I am no doctor, yet I handle life. I am no sorcerer, yet I handle magic. I am no artisan, yet I handle creation. I am a chef, and I handle the fires that bend the world. From the First Flame, I draw my existence, and from the hearth, I continue it. I am a chef, and I what I take, I return in kind. A Feast of Souls, for a worthy being." His words carried through the cave, and they reverberated in the mind of the Giant. This… was magic of a different sort. No staff, save a ladle. No spell, save the recipe. As a Giant, it had no need of mortal food, it was sustained by water and sunlight and souls alone. And yet it hungered, in a way it had never felt before. So very hungry!

Erik calmly lifted the pot, and carried it over to the Giant, ignoring the lingering heat on the handles. The insides had transmuted into something incredible! The soul had been absorbed into the Seed's pulp, where the two materials infused each other and became something new. There were now thick strands of white, silky thread in place of pulp, and they glowed with an internal light and purpose.

Soul Noodles, the first of the Four Divine Dishes his ancestor had created. The soul would seep into the Seed's pulp, and when combined with the solemn Oath of a Chef spoken as if it were an actual spell rather than a family motto, it created a unique alchemic reaction in the two substances. The "noodles" were light and fluffy and shining bright as polished silver, and a scent of pure nostalgia wafted up from them. The Giant moaned piteously as it caught the scent. Was this what the human had wanted? To torture it with food it could not consume?!

"Last of the Giants, I do not want to fight you. I do not want to kill you," Erik said loudly, holding back his flinch as the large, empty hole turned to stare directly at him. "The war is over, and your people lost. But I do not hold the devastation you caused on your head. I do not know why you attacked. None alive do. In the past, there was a tradition in Lindelt, knowing as Breaking Fast, where a priest would share his table with commoners as a sign of appreciation. It was also used as a peace treaty between enemies, because who would dare soil good food with blood?"

Erik gulped loudly, swallowing his nervousness, and continued. "Giant, I do not know if you can forgive what we did to you and your own, whatever it was. But I hope that this food can mend our bonds." He raised the pot, as if to tip it into the hole on the Giant's face.

"Legends say that you need only souls to survive, so I offer these to you. Let us Break Fast together, and close old wounds." His piece said, Erik pours the Soul Noodles into the Giant's face-hole, leaving only a few inside for himself.

There was a long pause, as if the world had suddenly stopped. And then the Giant sighed. Flavors rushed through him, and the taste of souls filled it with memories of its home. If it could weep, it would, but instead it settled for a whimper that ruffled Erik's hair. Such kindness!

This boy was naïve, pure, and innocent. He would not last long as such in the wastelands of Drangleic or the shadows of the dying flame. And yet more than anything, the Last Giant wanted this boy to succeed the Throne of Want, and usher in a new era! With one final groan, the Giant transmitted these hopes and dreams and thanks to the young Undead cook the only way it could. With a burst of light, its body disintegrated into motes of glittering energy that coalesced into a large, goldish-white flame that appeared before the man who let it have one last meal. It offered up its own soul to the child in hopes that he would perhaps save the world.

The rubble crashed down, no longer supported by the Giant's form, and Erik flinched back, shocked by the sudden turn of events. Slowly, he put the pot down and reached out to grasp the Giant's soul. As his fingers closed around it, he was filled with strong, powerful emotions that emanated from it. He absorbed the gift into himself, before wiping away a tear.

"I promise you, I will do what I can," Erik whispered, before bending down and grabbing the last of the Soul Noodles with his hands. He stuffed them into his mouth to keep himself from crying, though it didn't work as the taste brought tears to his eyes. His skin glowed for a moment, and his flesh reverted back to normal, his appearance of humanity restored. He barely noticed, and he turned to the exit, which was finally fog-free. Packing up, Erik could only wonder at what he was getting himself into.


	5. Chapter 5: Meet the Neighbors Part 1

_Chapter 5: Meeting the Neighbors Part 1_

"Is something the matter, dear Shanalotte?" Shalquoir asked as she slunk up to the silent and staring Emerald Herald.

"No," she muttered, still staring off into the distance. Tilting her head, the immortal cat let her curiosity get the better of her and she turned to look in the same direction as the last Firekeeper, before breaking into a Cheshire grin.

"Oh, watching the forest path, are we? If I didn't know better, I'd almost think you were worried for the boy," Shalquoir teased, smirking up at her friend in that feline way all cats can do. The Emerald Herald snorted in dismissal.

"You do know better Shalquoir. I am merely watching the path leading from Things Betwixt. It just so happens that the location is in the same general area."

The Memory Watcher snorted, before curling up on the flat stone near the bonfire's warmth.

"Say that all you want, the truth will remain. You worry for him."

"Of course not. He chose his fate by venturing into the forest under equipped. Why should I be concerned with a fool who will not become the Monarch? Besides, after Melentia returned, I knew he at least had some sense."

The brown and white cat conceded the point with a yawn. "Indeed he does. But to think the lad could break through to her with food of all things," Shalquoir said, sparing a glance for the hunched old woman. She'd taken up residence in a tent, but spent the day leaning on the wall near the forest path. Her wares were fairly common and low quality, but she did have a few treasures in that large pack of hers. The Herald remembered her from the past. The hag merchant would wander through Majula sometimes, never staying long. She'd been wandering for a long time, longer than even Shanalotte had been waiting. She was one of the early Cursed Undead, and had hidden well from the purges. Now that the land was in ruin and the kings fallen from power, she was seen more often. But rarely did she act friendly, or at least not try and push someone to buy her wares.

Melentia had changed. Shanalotte recognized this when the old Undead had walked out of the Forest of Fallen Giants. She was polite, kept her cackles to herself, and made an attempt to be more pleasant. She'd even returned Lenigrast's key to him without demanding payment! Such a thing shocked all five inhabitants of the town. Hardly greedy, but definitely a skinflint. That was what everyone knew the hag as. Melentia claimed that the wandering cook, Erik Potts, had convinced her to return the poor blacksmith's key.

Hearing about the boy irked Shanalotte. He was a pitiful, naïve brat, who wouldn't last long in this place. Yet he had made a friend out of someone who, while ancient, had a wealth of knowledge and knew how to find rare artifacts and items.

Five days had passed since the boy had first arrived, and three since Melentia had returned to Majula. He was probably Hollow by now.

"Someone approaches. Someone with the Giant's Soul!" Shalquoir suddenly exclaimed, sitting upright, her head swiveling to look at where the exit from the Giant's Forest was.

"Why did they not use the bonfire to warp back?" Shanalotte mused, straining her eyes. Could it have been another warrior? There were a few Undead out in that direction who could pass for a Monarch's Candidate, but it didn't seem likely to be one of them. Pate was a trickster and coward, and Creighton a blood crazed murderer. Both were skilled warriors, but they did not have the drive to become anything more than two-bit crooks.

All of her questions and speculations fled her mind though as she beheld the person Shalquoir had sensed, replaced with a single word; "How?!"

Out of the path emerged the fool, Erik Potts! He was dirt stained and dragged his feet somewhat from fatigue, but none the less alive and Unhollowed!

"Oh me, oh my! Look what the cat dragged in!" Shalquoir said happily, grinning at her own joke before hopping off the rock she was on and sauntering over to Erik as he got closer. He smiled and bent down, stroking her back before freezing.

"It's alright, I do not mind. I may have a voice, but that doesn't mean I don't like a backrub every now and then. What woman wouldn't?" Shalquoir said in a teasing manner, savoring the man's embarrassment.

"Ah, yes, apologies, it was reflex," Erik mumbled in shame.

"It seems you obtained the soul of the Last Giant. I am impressed. I did not take you for such a capable warrior. Or was it a fluke like the last time you encountered big monsters?" Shanalotte inquired, almost able to hide the annoyance in her voice.

"I may have the Giant's Soul, but I did not kill him for it," Erik said striding over to the bonfire and plopping down onto a rock near it, letting the mystical flames caress and heal his body, and also fill his Flask.

"Then how…?"

"I was trapped by that strange fog in the cave with him, but all I did was run. He struck some unstable part of the wall, and it collapsed on him, pinning him beneath." He looked over at the Emerald Herald, who noted with mild surprise how his eyes had hardened since she'd first seen him. Not with pain or misery or even madness, but with purpose.

"I could not bring myself to kill him. He was a victim, much like myself. So, I cooked for him. I prepared one last meal and offered it to him as one might Break Fast in Lindelt. We forgave each other. And then he passed on and just gave me his soul," Erik continued, to the shock of the two immortals.

"You… how…" Shanalotte was speechless. What was with this person?! Who in their right mind would cook a meal for a Giant! How could he even do so, all they consumed was water, sunlight, and…

"You used a Seed of a Tree of Giants!" Shalquoir hissed in surprise, catching on to the cook's trick. Erik just nodded, further stunning the two listeners. Such a precious item, wasted on a dying Giant who was as much a part of the Curse as the Undead were?

"You really are Donovan's descendant! Even with the recipe, it would take a truly talented person to make it all work properly! Amazing! You are a true diamond in the rough!" Shalquoir praised, making Erik blush.

"It felt like the right thing to do, you know?"

"What will you do now? Where will you go?" Shanalotte asked abruptly. He had taken the first step onto the Monarch's road, now it was her job to see him follow through. Whether she liked it or not.

"For now, I'm going to explore Majula. I didn't really get a chance when I was here earlier," Erik said, rising from his rocky seat. "After that I don't know. But I'll come and see you for advice. You seem to know the layout of the land fairly well. And you seem to know where I need to go next, anyways."

He cast the two a look. It was not judging, it was not angry or suspicious. But he knew something was going on. Something deeper than the Curse might first suggest. Still, he moved on, calling out a happy greeting to the merchant hag.

"Mrs. Melentia! I'm glad to see you made it out safely," Erik exclaimed, walking over to the old woman with a friendly smile. She looked up and smiled widely cackling as he neared.

"Looks like you survived! Good, good! No trouble with the spearman I hope?"

"Pate didn't seem that bad, actually. A bit wary, but that's to be expected. Said he was waiting for a comrade," Erik said, leaning up against the wall to chat with the older Undead. "I also met a cartographer. Kale, I think his name was? He was wandering about in a cave, and then he gave me this key." He showed the old woman the worn iron key, and she nodded.

"Trust Mild Mannered Pate at your own peril boy. He's been an Undead for a while now, and we've crossed paths before. Never done anything wrong, mind you, but there is something I do not like about him. And you say you met Kale? Poor lad is almost Hollow," Melentia said conversationally. Erik nodded at that in sad agreement.

"He said he was compiling a map based on something he found in the basement of a house. What was that about?" Erik inquired, and Melentia just pointed a finger across the town to where the largest building stood.

"That is the home of the town Magistrate. Back when things were alright," the merchant stated. "In it there are a bunch of records and documents, and some rare tomes of knowledge. But what the poor lad is referring to is a large mural down in the lower levels; an entire, complete map of Drangleic."

"That seems fairly useful, actually," Erik mused.

"Yes, it is, but here's the interesting thing; it wasn't made by anyone living at the time. It was dug up! When the house was being expanded, workers unearthed the map, and it quickly garnered attention from the king himself! Even with King Vendrick having stabilized the region, much is not known of this land before man first came. This map shows places that do not exist anymore, and some that we'd had no idea existed! The Brightcove was discovered thanks to the map, as was the Dragon's Aerie! That map is also made entirely from a single block of Titanite; no ordinary person could afford that, let alone sculpt it! It was too large to move though so they copied it. Even now though it is still there, untouched by time."

Erik was astonished. Legends spoke of Drangleic as the home of the First Flame, but also the birthplace of Chaos and the Demons, as well as land of the Gods. Artifacts from bygone eras were unearthed all the time, but most were broken or hoarded by the nobles. To have such a thing so close was almost like a dream. Erik felt giddy, and he wanted to rush over and examine it himself, but he restrained his impulses. He had all the time in the world to do things now. He could afford a slow pace once in a while.

"That sound's absolutely incredible, Mrs. Melentia! I want to see it for myself someday!" Erik said, impressed. The merchant hag just cackled.

"Well, since you are here, why not buy something? You may be surprised."

And he was. Melentia had a massive amount of Lifegems, as well as some throwing knives, fire bombs, and most tantalizingly a bunch of Amber Herbs! He bought a bit of all of it! Lifegems for healing were an obvious choice, and he lacked projectile weapons, something that would have come in handy back with the crossbowmen at the castle. He snatched up a few of both throwing weapons eagerly. Lastly, he took just one Amber Herb. He'd wanted them all, and the Brightbugs, but he did not have enough souls for that. Still, this was a good haul, and he had some souls left over.

Thank you kindly! Keh heh heh!" Melentia said with a cackle as the chef bought his goods. He politely ignored that, and went on to the next person to meet.

"Err, oh, hello there. W-welcome, to my shop," A dark skinned man in robes and cap said nervously as Erik entered the surprisingly intact building.

"Hello, I don't think we've met. My name is Erik Potts of Lindelt. I'm a chef," he introduced.

"Oh, h-hello. I'm Maughlin, an armorer from Volgen. Do you need any armor? I have shields as well if you like."

"A shield sounds great, actually. My last one broke and my current one has seen much better days," Erik said happily, showing off the dented plate of iron masquerading as a shield.

"Ugh, yes, let me show you what I have," Maughlin said hurriedly, giving the rusted shield a disgusted look.

"It's not much, but here." Shields were laid out before the cook, and he rubbed his chin as he examined them.

"The smallest one, please. I fear I am not strong enough to lift the other two," Erik decided, handing over the souls for the Iron Parma. Maughlin took them gratefully, and passed him the small roundish shield.

"So, what brings you to Majula?" Erik asked after a bit as he tested out his new shield.

"I came from the west, from Volgen. Have you been there? It's a lively place, vibrant with trade. Very competitive, of course. And y-you have to grease the wheels to get anywhere. But I didn't have the funding for that, so I left home in hopes of striking gold." At this, Maughlin's head drops in weariness and defeat. "It's been years since then, and I've… well I've made very little headway… hah hah. I don't even know why I'm still here… Everything's all run-down and dying… It's t-terrible for business, really…"

"I can imagine business being slow," Erik agreed, glancing out the window at the town. "But why not just leave? Surely there are other places you could set up shop?"

"Not likely. Majula may be desolate, but it's the safest place to be if you're Undead. Plus, travelers come through all the time, be they new arrivals or older Undead passing through to elsewhere. It's a hub, really, and everyone needs some manner of protection," Maughlin explained. Erik raised an eyebrow at that.

"How is that possible? Drangleic is vast, how is it that this tiny settlement is the safest spot to be?"

"Because not just Hollows and monsters roam these parts," Maughlin explained. "The Gyrm hold dominion over the pass towards the Brightcove and they dislike intruders of any sort, especially humans. The Lion Clan rules the Shaded Woods and they hate non-clansfolk, so that means access to Drangleic Castle is extremely perilous. The interior of Alken, the Old Iron King's domain, is either bogged down in lava or choked with poison, while the outskirts are filled with disciples of Nahr Alma, the blood god. Eleum Loyce has been isolated with an unending blizzard for centuries now and is almost unreachable. And don't even get me started on the Blue Sentinels who've claimed the ruins of Heide for themselves!" Maughlin cried, all but shouting. "And then you have Hollows and monsters and unscrupulous bandits! No, Majula is the only place left for sane folk like you and me. Don't go expecting any safety beyond this place."

"I see. Thank you, that information was most helpful," Erik said softly, taking it all in. Things were worse than he'd thought!

"Be seeing you then. Try not to die out there," Maughlin said in farewell as the cook left the shop.

The sound of metal being hammered into shape rang in Erik's ears as he approached the roofless home that belonged to the sole blacksmith of Majula. The ringing of sound was loud, but not unpleasant. To someone who'd grown up in the capitol of Lindelt, Erik was used to being surrounded by noise. He'd never admit it, but to him the most unnerving part about Drangleic was the lack of familiar sounds. Even the birds and beasts were muted, as if afraid to call attention to themselves, and the silence made the cook uncomfortable. As such, even the tiniest reminder of home calmed him.

"You, stand back. This is dangerous work," the smith called out as Erik entered through the doorway. The green skinned man barely glanced up, and Erik averted his eyes from the massive hole in the man's shoulder. Was that how he'd died? If it had been recent the bonfire should have healed him. "The name's Lenigrast. Just a simple blacksmith. And you are…hmph! Another useless traveler. A man ought to labor with his feet planted firmly in the earth. Not roam around like you flirtatious vagabonds."

Erik frowned, but shook it off. The smith was gruff and slightly rude, but that didn't mean anything.

"I may be travelling, but I do so in order to find ingredients. I'm a chef, and while I do appreciate the idea of a home, I feel this is something I need to do."

"Oh, a chef you say?" Lenigrast's demeanor changed slightly. Not by much, but it was still noticeable how his posture shifted. "You must be the one who convinced the old hag to give me back my key! I was afraid she'd charge me for it! Please, excuse my attitude. I work with too many men and women who fight and bleed for a living. Repairing their equipment earns me souls, but having to repair the same things over and over gets tiring. If you ever need any of your cooking tools fixed, I'll be glad to help!"

"I'll be glad to take you up on the offer, sir," Erik said, mollified somewhat.

"Please, call me Lenigrast. No need for formalities here. But, do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Perhaps. What is it?" Erik asked.

"You see, my witless daughter is around here somewhere, but I'm not able to do much exploring. She's an adventurous type, but with unfortunately a bit too much air between her ears and her head in the clouds," Lenigrast said sadly, shaking his head. "If you find her, could you ask her to return here? I fear for her safety every day she's missing."

"I promise to do what I can if I meet her," Erik said with a nod of his head.

"Oh, thank you! Her name is Chloanne, and she wears a black dress and has her brown hair in a ponytail," the blacksmith exclaims, describing his daughter with a happy expression on his face. "You can't miss her!"

"Of course. I'll see you around." Erik turned and left, leaving the blacksmith to his work, and soon the clang of metal and the wheeze of bellows sounded in his ears once more.

A flight of worn stone steps lead up to a large monument atop a bluff near the bonfire. It was a beautiful object, made of marble and smooth stone that even after decades of sea air was mostly intact. Only the names the stood on the sides were faded from view, though a few could still be made out. "Syan… Drummond… Lothian…" It was a memorial to the warriors and heroes who fell during the Giant War.

"You're Undead, aren't you." This was a statement rather than a question, and it came from the man who sat on the steps of the monument, head bowed. He raised it though to stare at Erik with dead eyes. "You have that distinct scent. The smell of irreversible fate."

"This is Majula. It is a kind of settlement… a place where life is almost normal. And in Drangleic these days, there are very few places like that. Though, I assume you already knew this. I heard the poor merchant from Volgen lamenting his fate from here," the crestfallen knight said with a bitter chuckle.

"Greetings, my name is Eriks Potts, sir," the chef said, bowing his head slightly. This man wore worn and dirty armor, but there was no hiding the noble posture, even if slumped. In Lindelt, and anywhere really, the peasants and commoners learned to recognize the telltale signs of a nobleman, even if they were incognito.

"None of that 'sir' nonsense. I am a knight no longer. My name is Saulden, and like you I lost everything, and now I'm here. You probably heard that it was possible to break the curse here. I know you told the ladies that you had no such interest in that, but let me give you some advice, should you forget what you said; there is no cure. There is nothing here that can save us, so do what you want without entertaining such childish notions."

"I'll keep that in mind," Erik said, forcing himself from adding "sir" to the end.

"Since you're here though, why not have some advice. Over there, do you see? On that cliff opposite us. There is an ancient marker stone that still hums with magic. It might be useful to you, or not. Though if you need protection, why not join the Way of Blue?" At this, a tiny spark of enthusiasm comes to life in the knight's eyes, which Erik is quick to notice.

"The Way of Blue, you say?" He knew what it was. In Lindelt, you'd have to be blind and deaf not to know of it and its sister order, the Blue Sentinels. They were a pair of Covenants that had risen to power a little over four centuries ago, spreading quickly across the lands to combat the rise of Hollows and other threats. Firmly entrenched in Lindelt after only a decade, and now one of its major powers, they were the agents of justice for the gods. All who committed crimes against the Church were hunted down, and their main prey were the members of the Brotherhood of Blood. The Way of Blue acted as a shield, protecting the innocent and common folk, while the Blue Sentinels were the sword, actively hunting their foes down across the lands. Volgen, Melfia, Mirrah, even Lanafir and Jugo were slowly being influenced by these rising stars.

"Yes, the Way of Blue. I happen to be the local chapter master of the Covenant. If you are ever attacked by vile blood seekers, you can rely on us to protect you."

Erik thought it over. It sounded good. Having a life line while traveling was always a good thing, and the Twin Azure Orders were famous for their dedication to duty. There were worse things than having them to watch his back.

"That sounds like a good idea," Erik admitted, to which Saulden clapped his hands in delight.

"Wonderful! Here, hold out your hand, and I shall bless you with the Covenant's protection…"

Erik did so, and his right hand was clasped by the rougher ones of the morose warrior. Blue light danced in the air for a moment, before he pulled away. There was a new addition to his hand, though. A simple turquoise blue ring now sat on his ring finger, with a stylized leaf on the face as its symbol.

"This is the Blue Seal, emblem of the Covenant. As long as you wear it we can detect if you are being assaulted by one of the Blood God's followers or other such abominations and summon ourselves to your side."

"Thank you very much," Erik said with a bow before turning to leave.

"If you want to continue your journey, go through the tunnel near the monolith. It will lead you to the sunken kingdom of Heide, where my brothers in the Blue Sentinels reside. It is also a good place to fish, if that's your idea of fun," Saulden spoke up, surprising the chef with some helpful advice. Erik bowed to him once more before moving on down, making his way past the bonfire.

"…Is that a shard you've found?" Erik paused and turned to look at the Emerald Herald, who was looking at him with a mixed expression. Blinking, Erik nodded and removed the greenish shard from his waist pouch, where it sat with his Estus Flask.

"May I see it? I can use my powers to reinforce your Estus Flask with this broken fragment."

Without hesitation Erik passed them both over, and watched in awe as the woman held the two objects close to her chest, shining light spilling over them and the area. When it faded, the shard was gone but the flask remained, though it seemed bigger and sturdier for some reason.

"Take care on your journey. And if you venture near Heide, then past it lies the Wharf, where it may be possible to find some of what you seek."

"Thank you, my lady. And I don't think I ever apologized for mistaking your gift to me as a common bottle. For that, I'm sorry," Erik said, bowing his head to her.

"It is no trouble," Shanalotte said, avoiding meeting his eyes. Taking his flask back, he waved farewell and left for the legendary Towers of Flame.

Half way through the tunnel, Erik suddenly slapped his forehead and groaned. He forgot to ask her name again!


	6. Chapter 6: A Trip and a Metal Giant

Chapter 6: A Trip and a Metal Giant

"Finally out of the sewer! Ugh, I'm going to reek for days!" Erik griped as he emerged from the dark and dank tunnel, basking in the setting sun and crisp ocean breeze. He'd had to slog through the viscous sludge of the small cistern that had overflowed and backed up ages ago, leaving everything below his waist wet and gooey.

He shivered, partly from the memories, and partly from the cool wind chilling him. Looking around, he found himself on a worn down platform that led across broken and crumbling stone bridges and towers. A few of the towers were fairly intact, while a large cathedral rose in the distance, only the upper levels high and dry from the flooding around it. Below him, faintly visible in the blue tinted waters, were the sunken ruins of countless buildings and monuments.

Erik smiled as he beheld the scene. Heide, the Kingdom of Flames! On Drangleic, many nations had risen and fallen. Olaphais was one, the oldest based on surviving records. There had been Alken and Venn, both large and mighty nations, though in the time of the Old Iron King Alken finally conquered their ancient foe. The mysterious Shulva, of which little was known, other than their worship of Dragons. Then there was Heide, not as old as Olaphais, but older than Alken and Venn. It was a famous land, known for its lightning wielding knights and dreaded wyvern mounted Dragonriders. But ages past a great cataclysm sheared off a great chunk of Drangleic's coast, drowning much of the kingdom and supposedly sinking Shulva beneath the earth as well. Now, all that was left of Heide were these crumbling towers and a semi-submerged church.

It mattered little to Erik. He was just awed to be in a place so old and legendary as Heide. Maybe if he'd had a different life, a historian is what he'd have become.

Walking across the bridge, Erik spotted the telltale glimmer of fire on a small outcropping a bit away. A bonfire, perhaps? Odd to see one out here, but whoever set them up probably didn't mind where they put them so long as they were standing and somehow on fire.

Wandering over, the chef froze in place as he noticed a large, towering figure in tarnished greenish-blue armor standing close by. Swallowing a lump of fear, Erik watched in growing horror as the helmeted head turned slowly to stare at him. With a grinding of rusted metal on metal, it stomped over to him, wielding a massive sword and shield also made of the same materials as the all enclosing armor.

As the massive enemy began to move, so too did Erik, the chef bolting for the staircase that would hopefully lead to a bonfire. He did not know how they worked, or if it would even protect him. All he knew was he did not want to be near that armored monstrosity!

Down the stair he went, the simple bonfire looking pale and insignificant this close to the vast ocean. But it was a point of safety for him and the crunch of gravel spurred the chef onwards, though he spared a look back to see the giant knight clunking its way down the stairs. At that, Erik paused. Stairs…

Pivoting on one foot, Erik turned and brought a fire bomb into his hands, poised to toss it. The foe didn't even react, just continuing to move forward. Erik hurled the explosive with all his strength, watching and praying as it arced in the air, only to fall a few inches short of the massive bulk coming closer. And yet he smirked in triumph none the less.

If the animate suit of armor had a mind, it might have wondered why the foe looked so confident despite being weak, or perhaps it might have sneered in pity at the pathetic toss of the bomb. It did not. It could not. And then, there was a burst of flames at its feet.

The shockwave unleashed from the blast was strong, much more so than its tiny appearance might have alluded to. The Old Knight Golem reared back from the detonation, the fire scorching its leg plates and the pressure of the explosion stumbling it. On open ground, this would not be a problem. On salt-water slick stairs that were also fairly crumbling and smaller than the giant's feet? That single moment of lost balance spelt doom for the larger than life warrior, and it toppled over the edge with a grinding moan of surprise, plunging many stories down until it smashed against the stones and ocean below.

A rush of souls flew up to Erik, surprising him for a moment. Had it been a mortal being once? He didn't know, but somehow doubted it. He knew that a person's soul was linked in some ways to their size. The larger the essence of life energy, the larger the mortal frame grew in order to accommodate it. It was why skilled knights, brilliant sorcerers, revered clerics, and mighty kings were often larger than their servants and subjects. Nowadays though most did not exceed eight feet. The age of titans like King Vendrik and his Royal Aegis were over. And that rusty knight had been a little shorter than a Giant by a few feet, though not as wide or bulky. Not even Vendrick, tall has he had been said to be, was as big as a Giant.

A construct of sorts? He knew that such things were possible. House Osteria of Lindelt was protected by a number of enchanted marble statues, and tales of the living dolls of Alken and Venn were common. Perhaps Heide had been the first to invent it? Or copied it from elsewhere? They must have been talented indeed to have them last so long. Erik shrugged, and made his way to the bonfire, watching mesmerized as the dull embers roared to life as he approached. He sat down in front of it, warming and drying himself. Dusk was falling, and the chef didn't feel like risking his neck in the dark, especially with a sheer drop just waiting to happen.

He proceeded to make a fishing pole out of a wooden rod, some string, and a hook and lure set he removed from his pack. Casting it into the ocean over and over, he caught a fairly good haul for his dinner; a pair of Silver Scale Trout and a fat Shallow Sea Bass. Cooked by the bonfire, seasoned with some dried thyme, rosemary, and basil, the fish made an excellent meal. He knew he did not truly need to eat as an Undead. But he still felt the pangs of hunger, and the parched throat of thirst. A bitter annoyance to some, but Erik was glad he could still taste and enjoy a well-made meal. It let him retain a spark of brightness in his now dreary life.

As the sun dipped almost completely behind the horizon, a crunch entered Erik's ears, and he turned to face the sound. What he saw made him frown. The Old Knight Golem was clambering up the side of the cliff it had fallen from, salt water pouring in rivers through the cracks in its armor. The armor itself looked completely intact for the most part and Erik frowned. Whatever it was, it was tenacious. He stood up and stretched. Well, better go kill it then!

Aiming carefully at the hulking warrior moving slowly but with surprising ease up the side of the cliff, Erik let loose a single throwing knife, watching as it clanged pitifully off the armored joints of the behemoth. He frowned again. That didn't work! And he just wasted a whole knife! The moment the tiny bladed projectile struck it, the armored defender paused, and turned its head to stare up at Erik with empty sockets. The chef screamed in fear as it began to climb up faster and towards him! In panic he grabbed a fire bomb and hurled it downwards, shouting in joy as it smashed open on the armored head, spilling blazing flames all over it, cracking the solid metal and blackening the helm and the upper part of the torso with the blast. And yet it did not let go of the cliff! Instead it just uttered a mechanical screech and climbed up even faster. With a cry of fear, Erik did the only sensible thing; he threw the Shallow Sea Bass' skeleton down onto the Old Knight Golem. That made it pause in confusion. It reached up to remove the offending object that lodged into the visor of the helmet, letting go of the cliff with its left hand to do so. There was an echoing crack as the armored knight's weight was no longer evenly distributed, and with the Cliffside weakened from the fire bomb it gave way under its fingers, toppling the metal behemoth back to the water below. It cried out in annoyance before it was silenced by a "Crunch!"

Peering over the edge, Erik saw it was fully impaled on a stone jutting upwards. It lay there, still, as souls rushed up to fill the chef again. He blinked, then smiled at his victory.

"HA! Is that all you got? Sucks to be you!" Erik taunted. A groan from below made Erik leap back in fear as the Old Knight Golem thrashed about a bit on the spur of rock, but found itself unable to escape. Erik sighed in relief.

"OK, no more taunting fate and the gods. Got it!" He mumbled, wandering back to the bonfire and his pack. Removing a thick woolen blanket from its depths, the weary cook nestled down into a slight crevasse in the wall, where he curled up into it, wrapped himself in his blanket, and let Quella take him into her realm.


	7. Chapter 7: A Blue Banquet

**_Chapter 7: A Blue Banquet_**

It was not the morning light that woke Erik Potts, nor the sound of the sea. Rather, it was a sudden sharp pain in his right foot, which was poking out from his blanket. With a grumble, he blinked his eyes open, and saw a seagull trying to pull off his toes, thinking they were a tasty grub or worm.

"Oi!" Erik shouted, shaking his foot and startling the hungry bird. It squawked indignantly and took off, circling for a bit before leaving. Muttering curses under his breath, the young Undead rose, his joints creaking and popping in the chilly morning air. A growl ripped through the air, and he tensed, before realizing it was his stomach with a blush. A few strips of dried beef were popped into his mouth as a quick breakfast. He frowned, noting that he was running low on dried rations. He hadn't seen a single horse or cow, or even a chicken anywhere. Some Undead pigs roamed in the alleys and corners of Majula, but Erik highly doubted they'd be edible. He sighed sadly. Looked like it would be lots of vegetables and fruits for the foreseeable future.

Stuffing his blanket into the bottom of his sack before latching it onto his back, Erik looked out over the dawn-stained waters and gave a smile. Time to adventure!

Before leaving the bonfire area Erik took a quick peek over the side of the cliff to check if the Old Knight Golem was still there. To his surprise it was, and also it was immobile! It looked, well, dead, for lack of a better term. Blinking, Erik quickly looked inward using his Undead senses to check on his condition. Aha! Just as he thought, there was a massive amount of souls sitting inside him! Apparently it had reanimated and died over and over all night, its souls rushing into the chef, either because he was close, or because he was the person who'd brought it to such a situation. Now though, all the souls that animated the creation were completely drained and it could no longer move. It was truly defeated!

Grinning, Erik walked back up to the upper levels of sunken Heide with a spring in his step. His joy immediately faltered as he spotted another Old Knight Golem, this time with a gargantuan mace-hammer-club weapon. It was next to a small staircase which was also missing railings on the left side, so perhaps his tactic that vanquished the first one would work? Gods he hoped so, he did not even dare to think he could match that monstrosity in a battle of martial skills. Sure, a man-sized foe was doable, but something almost twenty feet tall? No thanks, that's a bad idea!

Creeping closer, Erik slowly reached for another fire bomb, hoping he'd have enough to clear the area. Before he even reached the first step, the rusted helmet snapped towards the chef and locked onto him. With a shout of fright Erik raised his fire bomb, ready to do battle if necessary. It began to clunk towards him, shredded cape flapping sadly in the breeze, before it reached the short staircase. With a roar it lunged forward, all but running towards the Undead.

Again, Erik hurled the bomb at its feet but before it reached the giant warrior bent its knees and freaking jumped, sailing over the blossom of fire to crash heavily right in front of Erik! A second shrill scream of fear later he dove between his assailant's legs as the mace-hammer-club slammed violently into the ground where the chef had once stood, spending chips of stone flying. Quick as a flash, the Old Knight Golem twisted about, dragging its weapon in an upwards backhand swing towards Erik where he lay. A desperate roll to the side later and his face was nicked with flecks of jagged rock, but spared the fate of being crushed.

'Shit!' Erik swore to himself, backpedaling. This monster just wouldn't stop! But, in a panicked glace around the area, Erik saw that his attacker was standing just a few feet from the edge! If he could push it over, then he might have a chance. A plan forming, he leaped up and tossed a knife to distract the Old Knight Golem. The blade bounced off and skittered to the side but it did its job. Turning slowly the ancient warrior ponderous raised its weapon above its head. With a shout Erik lunged forward, slamming an open palm on its right leg and letting loose a Combustion straight on the knee! It staggered, and the weapon's sheer size and weight tilted the wielder backwards. Unfortunately, this foe seemed smarter and let go of its weapon, letting it thud loudly behind it. Still, Erik wasn't worried. He slammed another Combustion on the other knee, and the armored soldier took another step back. And then, luck struck.

Its boot clipped against its own fallen weapon, and it seemed to take on an almost comical air as it realized it had been tricked! Like its earlier comrade the Old Knight Golem gave a roar and then fell backwards, plunging into the ocean. A few seconds and a rush of souls later, Erik sighed in relief. It was over!

As he turned to leave to the next area his eyes fell on a package of some sort lying near the mace-hammer-club. Made of silk, it was clearly something precious, but why would that monster have held it? Curious Erik picked it up, unwrapping the silk only to stare in confusion at what he saw. A glass vial full of white powder? It radiated a faint magic and gave off a feeling similar to the bonfires he'd encountered. It was clearly valuable but Erik just shrugged and shoved it into his pouch to keep it safe. He could figure out what it was some other time. Right now he had to leave before the Golem came back.

Walking up the steps he came face to face with a door. It looked big and heavy, but was slightly ajar. He grabbed the open seam and pulled, dragging the door open. What he saw did not improve his mood. Another Old Knight Golem stood waiting, though with its back turned to him. Over to the left a long walkway ended inside a pavilion of sorts, in which a trio of the same massive armored guardians stood. From there, two paths branched off. One lead to the cathedral, the other off to a fairly intact tower and a cave. Decisions, decisions.

Erik removed his Orange Soapstone and held it tightly, praying that someone had left a message to help him. Before his eyes a few flaming messages materialized and he checked them carefully. One, directly in front of him, claimed he should "Sneak Attack!" the Old Knight Golem that faced away. Another offered the suggestion of "Slow, then Run," perhaps urging the reader to take advantage of their foe's ponderous nature and evade them. The third and final message was the least helpful. "Try Jumping!" It said, right next to a sheer drop on the left.

After careful consideration, Message 2 seemed the best option. Run and hope for the best it is! He removed a ring from his pouch and slipped it on.

Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Erik looked ahead to check his route. To the Cathedral first, the tower and cave second. Whoosh! Like an arrow Erik shot off, darting towards the pavilion and what lay beyond it. His action attracted the attention of the first Old Knight Golem and it began to chase after him, while at the same time two of the three ahead of him caught sight of the running chef, and rushed out to assault him as well! But he did not stop. He ran, and even as the rusted armored warrior ahead of him raised its bludgeoning weapon, and the pursuer behind him raised its sword and shield, he kept moving full tilt. With a wild battle cry, Erik slide forward between the charging artificial knights' legs avoiding all of them in one fell swoop!

Ignoring the sound of three massive forms slamming into each other and then toppling into the ocean Erik kept moving, daring not to pause. He gave silent prayers of thanks for the Clothary Ring though as its magic kept up his stamina that would have otherwise faded much earlier. A bubble of elation and an influx of souls buoyed Erik and his movements improved. He dashed past the last of the pavilion guards, who turned creakily in surprise, and then past two more Old Knight Golems who were guarding a staircase leading to the temple. They did not give chase once he reached the top though which was a relief, and Erik finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. Just one more obstacle!

A single Old Knight Golem remained ahead, standing guard on the round platform where the drawbridge –which was currently raised- likely lowered and allowed entry. A lever stood nearby the clunky soldier, and the way it was positioned Erik guessed that was what would lower the drawbridge on his side. How to deal with the guard, then? Well, knocking them off ledges had worked so far, so why change it!

With measured steps Erik inched closer, hoping to pull off a sneak attack and dominate the battle. When he was just a few feet away though the Old Knight Golem rumbled to life and turned to face him, sword and shield raised for combat. A sigh of resignation is all Erik can utter before he and his foe all but collide. Two Combustions in quick succession blackened its legs and it slumped over, as if in pain. Ignoring the motions the chef slammed a burning fist into the side of the helmet, ripping it off with an explosion of magical flames with souls spurting out into Erik. It collapsed fully to the ground now, the rather anti-climactic battle over as soon as it began.

"Well…" the wandering cook mumbled to himself as he pulled the lever. A grinding of chains later and the surprisingly well polished drawbridge thumped down, allowing him across. He made his way up, coming up to a door of grey fog. Swallowing his nervousness, he steps into it, feeling the familiar lurching sensation deposit him on the other side. What he saw was not what the chef had expected.

Worn but lovingly cared for wooden benches and pews stood on either side of him, as well as a number of marble pillars holding up the ceiling. Stained glass windows, unbroken and clean of dust, turned the early morning sunlight into a myriad of dancing colors. The whole scene would have been calming if not for the tall black armored knight in front of him! The helmet was modeled after a lion, and though the entire set was black, a faint hint of gold could be seen through it. Accompanying it was a large lugged spear, the tip seemingly made of marble, while the shaft was also blackened yet retaining an echo of faded gold.

Frozen in place, Erik didn't even have a chance to react as it lunged at him, bring up the spear to run him through! The chef whimpered and raised his arms to cover his face, vividly remember the last time someone ran him through with an oversized weapon. He could only hope it would be over quick.

However, nothing happened. After a few seconds of not being killed, Erik lowered his stance and peeked out to see what the holdup was. Where the black lion knight had originally charged now it stood standing in front of the chef as if confused, eyes behind the helmet locked onto Erik's right hand…

With a start Erik looked down as well and gasped in realization. The Blue Seal Ring! If that was the case, perhaps this man was one of the Blue Sentinels? Maughlin and Saulden had both claimed the Covenant had taken over part of Heide.

"Are you familiar with a man named Saulden?" Erik inquired.

"...Yes…" A voice that was cracked and faded with under-use and age came from the lion warrior, and Erik smiled.

"He gave me this ring after I joined the Way of Blue. Are you perhaps one of the Blue Sentinels?"

"Yes…" the black lion replied. It stepped aside, and the fog suddenly dissipated from the doors behind the two of them.

"Friend… may pass…" the possible Undead knight uttered, and Erik gave him a deep bow of gratitude.

"Thank you." Stepping out of the small chapel room Erik found himself walking up a flight of steps to an open air balcony where a tall man in elegant armor and an exquisitely crafted halberd stood looking out over the ocean.

"Oh, what's this?" The man turned and the chef was struck by a noble presence emitted from this man. "A visitor. How rare. I see you bear the mark of our sister Covenant. Welcome, fellow Undead, to the Drangleic branch of the Blue Sentinels!"

The large man, easily seven and a bit feet tall, gave a respectful nod, causing Erik to return it with a deep bow.

"I thank you for the welcome, noble sir! I am Erik Potts of Lindelt, given this ring by Saulden in Majula!"

"Peace, brother, no need for such ceremony here!" the knight laughed kindly and Erik was filled with gratitude. "I am Targey, commander of the Blue Sentinels in Drangleic and former Grandmaster of the Covenant before I contracted this sad Curse."

"The Grandmaster? Forgive me, I did not know who you were."

"That is quiet alright, brother. I 'died' a little over two centuries ago, and few would probably remember or recognize me. Though may I say I am impressed you made it this far! You do not have the look of a fighter about you." Targey looked over the young Undead with a critical yet respectful eye. He was privately impressed.

"No sir I am not, I am just a humble chef, traveling through this land in search of culinary delights," Erik explained. "I would have died many times over if not for my luck. Indeed, I feared that your guardian would strike me down as soon as I entered! If not for the ring, I fear I'd be back at the bonfire."

"Yes, our dear Dragonslayer can be a bit overzealous at times. It's all he has left I'm afraid. Nearly Hollow, the poor man. He was one of the first Blue Sentinels to contract this Curse, you know? He's been protecting these lands for many long and lonely years. Only after I arrived did the scattered remnants of the Twin Azure Orders gather together once more," Targey said, explaining the situation. "But that is neither here nor there. What brings you to the Blue Cathedral?"

"Well, I was just exploring to be honest. Saulden suggested I visit this area if I wanted to continue onward through the land. This church seemed like a good place to investigate first."

"And it's a good thing you chose us before anywhere else! The tower in the distance near the Wharf's entrance is guarded by a dread knight; a Dragonrider, one of the few remaining original inhabitants of Heide!" the Covenant leader revealed. Erik paled and wiped his brow. That had been a close one!

"Is there another way around?" Erik asked after a moment. Targey nodded, and motioned for the young chef to follow him. The two walked in silence for a bit before coming to a stop before a bonfire nestled in a tiny back room.

"Rest here by the fire first and we can discuss these things later."

Erik nodded in agreement and sits down, letting the embers wash away his aches and pains.

"You are a chef… does that mean you can cook a variety of dishes?" Targey asked after a moment of peaceful silence.

"Indeed! Something I pride myself on is having a grasp on different cuisines," Erik said with confidence.

"Volgen?" Targey inquired.

"At least a dozen, not including the countless pasta recipes."

"Melfia?"

"Mostly sweets and desserts. Sorcerer's have a mean sweet tooth," Erik stated.

"Mirrah?"

"Pot roasts, meat pies, and marching rations alike."

"Lanafir?" Targey asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I actually found a recipe for Rhubarb Pie on the way over here, plus I can use turnips and beetroots in a whole host of dishes," Erik said proudly.

"Forossa?"

"Stews, crusty bread, and a homebrew recipe for Seigbräu. Honestly though you could always just leave out the stew and bread and give them alcohol," Erik said with a deadpan expression, causing the Templar to laugh in agreement.

"Catarina?"

"I can add garlic and onions to anything," Erik assured.

What about Jugo?" At this, Targey's tone became almost longing. This did not go unnoticed by the young Undead chef.

"Wow-Wow curry is one dish I can say I am well acquainted with." That did the trick, as Targey's expression brightened.

"Wonderful! Do you think I could impose on you to cook the Covenant a midday meal?" The Covenant master asked hopefully and Erik nodded.

"I'd be happy to. Though I may need a lot of ingredients… how many am I cooking for?"

"There's a dozen people here right now, excluding myself and the Dragonslayer. A few more may trickle in when word goes around of an actual decently cooked meal though."

"May I have some parchment? I'd like to write a list of what I'll need," Erik requested, and the Jugo native passed him a scrap of the writing sheet. In a few moments a list written up in charcoal was passed back to the Covenant leader who simply nodded in understanding as he looked over the supplies.

"I should be able to have them all gathered in a few hours. Let me take you to the kitchens." Targey lead the Undead visitor up the stairs and through some side corridors into a large, fairly empty room.

It was a kitchen only in the fact that it was where food was prepared. The hearth was barely stoked and the tables where the pots and pans were stored were very cluttered and messy. Plus, the cooking implements themselves were filthy, layers of grime and grease staining most of the collection.

"Oh gods." Erik winced as he took in the sight before him, with Targey having the decency to look abashed.

"None of us know much about how a kitchen works. Most of us who arrived here were from a privileged background of some sort. Sadly most commoners do not last long in Drangleic these days so what we can do ourselves is limited at best."

"You said you had a dozen men here?"

"Yes," Targey nodded, noting a change in the boy's demeanor.

"Send those you can spare over here. I can't do any cooking in these conditions. They'll be cleaning while I do the preparing."

"I'll see to it." Targey quickly left, unpleasant memories of him as a boy trying to sneak treats from the kitchens playing in his mind. Each time he tried he would be caught and paddled by the head chef. No one trespassed in a knight's arena, no one trespassed in a priest's sanctuary, and no one trespassed in a cook's kitchen. Do not anger the hand that feeds you!

Six of the twelve arrived shortly after in the kitchen, the others sent off to organize and gather the required ingredients. Most of the new help were sheepish and embarrassed at the kitchen's state and quickly got to work under Erik's direction. One of them though, a Forossan mercenary, scoffed at the orders.

"I fight and swing a sword, I don't clean or wield a mop! Why should I have to do servant's work?" His fire red hair stood out prominently with the blue colors of the symbols on his armor, and he stood just shy of eight feet tall, his soul clearly a mighty specimen. He wore the gauntlets and chest piece of the legendary Lion Knights of Faraam, with lighter leather boots.

"It is quite simple, really," Erik had replied, his voice sickeningly sweet and his body oozing a menacing aura as he showed off his Titanite knife. "You either do as I say, or I'll take this knife and cut something precious off."

"Hah! Just try and take my manhood! It's more than you could handle, tiny man!" The Forossan sneered, somehow not seeing his comrades trying to get him to back down.

"Now why would I want a tiny shriveled root?" Erik said, earning a red face from the large man and guarded snickers from his compatriots. "No, what I'll take is something you pride just as much, and is much closer to hand. Have you ever tried to wield a weapon missing a pinky finger?"

The Forossan blinked, unsure of where this was going.

"Obviously not, you still have both of them. So let me let you in on a secret; the pinky finger is the hard working yet unappreciated digit. It lets you control the balance of whatever you're holding, as well as adding an extra bit of force to a grip. Not much of course, but the effects are just subtle enough that without the pinky you'll overcompensate without it. And that would be dangerous for a swordsman, wouldn't it? After all, a strong blow might suddenly disarm you without that tiny extra help from the littlest finger, or you swing too wide and leave yourself open to counter attacks because you couldn't maintain the proper balance."

Calmly and with a smile still plastered on his face, Erik pulled out a leg of mutton from a crate that had been brought in earlier. He carefully placed it on a cutting board, and still maintaining eye contact with the mercenary brought his Titanite knife down onto the shank of meat, slicing clear through the thick fatty meat and bone and the cheap wooden board beneath.

"I am weak and frail and not much of a fighter. Out there in that wasteland I wouldn't last a minute against a skilled enemy. But in the kitchen, I am king. So you can clean up and get food, or shut up and leave and lose a meal. Your choice."

A long tense silence filled the air before the giant of a man roared with laughter.

"Ha! You've got guts and a sharp tongue, kid! Fine, you win, I like my hands in one piece." He stuck out his left hand and Erik took it, the two men coming to an understanding with a handshake.

"I am Gordin, the Wandering Knight of Forossa! If you ever need me to crush your enemies, give me a call!"

"And I am Erik Potts, chef extraordinaire," the young Undead returned. Gordin gave a booming laugh before grabbing some pots and starting to scrub away at them. His comrades just stared at the two.

Gordin was a man who could be counted amongst the mightiest warriors of Forossa alongside Vengarl and the Ivory King. Even if he'd lost his legendary blade he was still a beast on the battlefield. It was a good thing he valued honor as much as he did, else he would have been a terrifying foe to fight against. And here he was, making peace and friends with a simple peasant! Would wonders ever cease?

Hours passed in a blur of cooking and preparations, and by the time the food was ready it was more suited for the evening meal. Erik brought out the food on trolleys, his kitchen helpers carrying out dishes and platters as well, and setting it up at the long tables other Covenant members had set up.

By now word had spread and many more people from both the Way of Blue and the Blue Sentinels had gathered, bringing the number up to fifty nine! Erik had worked hard to prepare enough food for everyone and now it was time to show off his results. He stepped up to Targey and the now helmet-less Dragonslayer who were sitting at the head of the room, steam wafting up from the dishes.

"I felt that you'd appreciate a taste of home," Erik said to the Blue Sentinel's leader. "So I prepared you a heaping bowl of Wow-Wow curry, made with Red Burrs and Acid Ant Meat while seasoned with a touch of Green Blossoms. Enjoy!"

"…It's been so long since I last had a real curry," Targey said with joy, quickly taking a spoonful and grinning as the heat blasted his mouth. "Oh yes, that's the burn I've missed!"

"Red Burrs have a hot and spicy taste all on their own, and when combined with the acidic flavor of the Acid Ant and the bitter Green Blossom, it forces the curry powder to new levels of heat as the ingredients all force the burning sensation to the fore," Erik explained happily, his smile growing wider as he saw the Dragonslayer, a surprisingly young Undead with extremely decayed flesh, and Gordin have a contest to see who could eat the most curry the quickest. It ended with both of the fierce and mighty warriors screaming like children and dunking their heads in casks of ale simultaneously.

"Damn it, kid, that's hot! How do you sandmen stand that stuff?!" The Forossan demanded of his leader.

"Hot? Ha! This is mild if anything! We couldn't get our hands on any Bloodmoon peppers or Noonday Spice! If we had, this stuff could melt iron!" Targey happily claimed, Erik nodding in agreement in the background.

"Shit and blood and more shit! You're crazy!" Gordin accused, much to the laughter of his commander and the few other Jugonan's in the room.

"Perhaps! But who's crazier; the man who eats this or the man who tries to drink it and hope it doesn't leave him with a scorched chamber pot?" Gordin just sighed in defeated, smiling in a good natured way.

The feast quickly turned into a party and the mood had visibly lightened as the sky darkened. So many of the men and women here had fought and died and lived to fight again. Year after year, the weight of the Curse grew heavier. Many of the companions Hollowed as they lost all hope. Many of the ones still here knew it was only a matter of time before they snapped as well. But not today. This young man, barely a month on Drangleic, had brought up the spirits of the people who acted to protect the weak and innocent from the evil and cruel. He had no way of knowing, but this simple act of kindness had likely saved quite a few from slipping over the brink into emptiness.

But Targey knew. He himself struggled desperately with ennui and growing numbness as he did endless battle against the Brotherhood and the various madmen of this stricken land. More than once he contemplated following the example of his old friend Saulden and just giving up. But he endured. He had to be strong for his followers. His children. From the Dragonslayer, so close to becoming a Hollow he was almost a child in mentality, to Gordin who immersed himself in constant combat to avoid feeling anything, all were his to care for and look after.

And today an innocent boy gave him a much needed boost to his soul and will. Tasting the flavors of his homeland brought back wonderful memories of his life, and the reasons why he joined the Blue Sentinels.

Erik Potts… Targey couldn't help but shake his head as he thought of that new Cursed Undead. He had sensed the Giant's Soul nestled in the boy's own, as could the Dragonslayer and Gordin. Hells, anyone with sufficient strength and skill could sense powerful souls from a distance. This unfortunately made the chef a tempting target for uncaring and greedy men. Somehow the kind Undead had stepped onto the Monarch's Path, and now he was doomed to see it through or fail. And Targey did not want to see Erik fail. Because that meant death and madness. Only Saulden had escaped that fate, and only because the knight had quickly thrown away his acquired souls and progress back into the bonfires, resetting his cycle and barely evading a cruel fate. The leader of the Blue Sentinels did not want the boy to die.

"The stars are out and the moon rises high, young Erik. I invite you to stay the night before you continue your journey," Targey said, offering a warm and most importantly safe bed to the Undead cook.

"Thank you very much Sir Targey. I'll take you up on that offer," Erik smiled, hiding a yawn. Seeing that, the commander snapped his fingers and pointed at a random Sentinel, instructing him to lead the chef to a spare room.

As soon as he was gone Gordin saddled up next to his leader.

"I couldn't believe it when I first saw that kid, you know? To have snagged the Giant's Soul… that isn't an easy feat even for a seasoned fighter, and I have a feeling he didn't do it in a conventional manner."

"I agree Brother Gordin. Young Erik Potts is a mystery. An anomaly. Did you see his soul?"  
"Scrawny. Fairly average for a commoner," The Forossan knight said, an odd look in his eyes. "But I've never seen a soul that white before. At least not in an Unhollowed person."

Souls were the sum of a person, and reflected both the personality and their experiences. Colors would encroach on a soul as the owner grew and learned and lived. A murderer or evil person gained a red tinged soul, while a noble and upstanding man gained a golden shine. Blue for genius, yellow for faith, green for charisma, orange for fighting skills, purple for luck, and black for those touched by Chaos and Dark magic. The rarest color of all though was white. Not because it was hard to come by, but because of a souls very nature. White was innocence and purity. All were born with a pure white soul, but over time it would change color as they experienced life. Hardships strengthened it, success polished it. Only in death did a soul return to its colorless, original state. Why? Because there was no more humanity to influence a soul once it left its container. Save the most powerful and mighty souls of Demons and legendary heroes, souls returned to white with their owner's passing.

And for that reason Erik Potts was an enigma. His soul was not new; he was clearly in his earlier twenties regardless of how others referred to him, and the soul was strong and fully formed as it should be for an adult. But it retained the veneer and freshness of a newly born soul. That should not be possible. No man could truly be free of influences of some sort. Even saints had hues to their souls! As the Pardoners preach, "there is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt," and "it is only human to commit sin."

Who, or better yet what, was this caring young man?


	8. Chapter 8: Anti-Climax and Memories

_**Chapter 8: Anti-Climax and Memories of Faith**_

"The quickest way to the Wharf is through that cave past the Dragonrider," Targey explained, pointing out the path Erik would need to take.

It was morning and after a quick breakfast for the Twin Azure Order members the Undead chef had been escorted to the exit of the cathedral. Beside him and the Covenant leader were the Dragonslayer and Gordin, who were seeing their new acquaintance off.

"There's a land route option, but the way is extremely perilous," Targey continued, pointing out the mountains in the distance. "The Brotherhood of Blood has all but taken control of the Huntsman's Copse, which was the safest route to and from Alken and the areas around the Old Iron King's domain. It is far safer to move through the old sunken tunnels that litter Heide and bypass the woods all together. Do not worry though, you can just run past all the Old Knight Golems that defend the underground passages."

"Any advice for getting past the Dragonrider, then?" Erik inquired, casting a hopeful look at his guides. They all shrugged.

"He's an Undead like us, but Hollowed. Killing him is easy but he doesn't stay down for long. Honestly, I can defeat him in a one on one fight," Gordin admitted, but he quickly continued, dashing Erik's budding hopes.

"And no, I will not aid you in the fight. He does not appear before the same challenger twice if they've already beaten him once. He is a strong but pragmatic sort, and honorable even in his mindless state. If I accompanied you, we'd both be trapped by the fog, unable to pass until I left."

"What is that stuff anyways?" Erik asked, staring out at the distant wall of grey he could now spot from his elevated position. The Dragonslayer shrugged but suddenly took off, dashing down over the drawbridge and slashing the Old Knight Golem that was standing below!

"We can't fight the Dragonrider for you but these suits of armor are fair game," Targey explained at Erik's inquiring look. "As for the fog… well, we have some ideas but no clear answer. You saw how there was the stuff before you encountered the Dragonslayer? The fogs seems to be a manifestation of fighting intent and intimidation that a strong Undead or magical being can create to ward off foes and create isolated territories. The Dragonslayer uses it to keep unwanted Hollows and Undead away from our sanctuary. If you see something like it in your travels then know that whoever is on the other side is likely a powerful foe. But sometimes you cannot advance without engaging the Fog Master in combat, as in death it seems to fade."

"I see. Thank you for the information," Erik said gratefully, bowing to the two Blue Sentinels.

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I have a reputation," Gordin huffed, turning his head away. Targey just smiled warmly and shook the chef's hand in farewell.

"Be safe young Erik Potts. Your journey will not be easy, but we will add you when we can. Good luck, and good hunting."

Erik bowed one last time, before turning and leaving, heading down the drawbridge and following in the wake of the rampaging black lion knight. It did not take long for the cook to reach the fog gate, staring up at it in nervous worry. The Dragonslayer surprised Erik by placing a comforting hand on his shoulder before the silent Blue Sentinel fled back to the cathedral to continue guarding it from invaders.

"I can do this," Erik muttered under his breath, taking a deep breath and stepping through the warm yet cold, moist yet dry barrier.

Back at the Blue Cathedral, more than a few Covenant members were watching the young Undead, including Gordin and Targey. The latter was holding up a pair of binoculars to watch Erik's progress, and he frowned nervously.

"He can do it. Don't worry boss," Gordin assured, trying to keep worry from his own voice. An amused grunt came from the Dragonslayer as he returned, to which the Forossan barked out a laugh.

"Me? Worried about him? I didn't know you were a jester!" The Dragonslayer just chuckled drily through his helmet, causing the mercenary to huff and focus intently on the upcoming brawl between Dragonrider and Monarch Candidate.

As soon as he stepped foot into the arena, Erik felt an overwhelming pressure bare down on him. Straight across from the door where the chef had entered stood a tall crimson and gold armored knight, about as tall as the Dragonslayer had been but wider and with much more muscles. The Dragonrider clutched a golden halberd as large as he was in the right hand and a massive red and gold tower shield in the left. The ancient defender of Heide roared, charging forward with a desire to kill!

Mentally prepped for this, Erik rolled under the thrust and under the legs of the Dragonrider, positioning himself to the back. A Combustion to the knight's spine did little however, the metal armor barely glowing with heat! Gulping, Erik took up a guarded stance with his dagger in one hand and his Pyromancy in the other, ready to face whatever came next. He didn't have long to wait. The Dragonrider turned quickly and arrogantly, taking a step forward…

And plunging straight off the edge of the arena into the waters below, a bewildered bellow rising up as it fell until all was silenced with a thunderous splash and a stream of white glittering souls, as well as a larger, golden one that fled into him and nestled beside the Last Giant's Soul.

For a moment visions assailed him, not unlike when the Giant's essence had passed into him, but far more clear and coherent. A kingdom of peace and war with great, powerful warriors astride fearsome Wyverns. Ceremonies honoring the First Flame through ritual combat and the immolation of the impure. A gold and scarlet armored Dragonrider, diving down amidst a terrible storm, lashing out at a vast, pitch black dragon that spewed miasma and corruption with every breath, while a woman in black screamed a song at the heavens, a primal echo of fallen and splintered Darkness and Vengeance…

The images faded as soon as they came, and Erik blinked and rubbed his eyes, confused. He took a look around him and saw the fog dissipating on both doors. He lowered his weapons and toed the edge of the arena, unsure of what to do next.

"…Good match?" Was all he could muster up. When nothing else happened, Erik shrugged and walked out to the staircase that wound its way up the tower's side.

At the Blue Cathedral, there was only awkward silence.

"He has the gods' own luck," Targey finally said, his voice full of disbelief.

"Luck nothing, that kid must be a freaking god himself!" Gordin shouted in annoyance. "How?! I just… what… why…"

None of the other members of the Twin Azure Orders had anything else to say. What could they? They had just watched a kind yet wimpy Undead 'defeat' one of the more powerful Hollows in Drangleic. Without even trying. A sigh rippled through the area and the spectators moved on to various duties.

"He'll… be… fine…" Dragonslayer groaned out, before stalking back to take his place in the central chapel. Targey and Gordin shared a look before giving slight nods. This boy was definitely worth looking into and watching over.

Erik crested the stairs that wrapped around the exterior of the Dragonrider's tower and came to a halt, seeing a bonfire before him but also a young women in the hooded garb of a priestess of Lindelt. Based on the icons he could see sewn into the robes, she was a fairly high ranking one. She turned her head slightly as he entered, and a tiny smile graced her lips.

"Are you from these parts? My name is Licia. I have come to spread the art of miracles, a practice of which I am a disciple. I can see that you are well suited to comprehend their wondrous power. But the cost of it? That's for your heart to decide," the woman greeted with a warm open smile. Erik was taken aback at first but instinct kicked in and he gave her a respectful bow.

"Greetings, my lady. I am Erik Potts, also of Lindelt. I did not expect to see someone of your status here."

The woman's smile grew broader, and she chuckled merrily at the groveling commoner.

"No need for such actions here. Drangleic is dead, and so are we. No need to adhere to such stuffy rules amongst comrades. Call me Licia if you please."

Thank you, my lady," Erik said, standing straight.

"Hmm… I know that Family name of yours… are you perhaps Jakob Potts' son?"

"No, my la- I mean, Licia. I am his grandson," Erik said, and she frowned softly.

"Is that so… how many years have I been here then… I remember a young man working with Jakob in House Osteria's kitchens… such a spitting image…"

"That would be my father, Jack Potts. People say I look a lot like him," Erik said proudly.

"I see." A long, awkward silence descends, with Erik fidgeting slightly. He was too conditioned to try and walk away or ignore a cleric, even if she seemed distracted.

"I am sorry, forgive me for losing myself in melancholy," Licia said suddenly, giving Erik an apologetic smile. "If I can be of assistance, do let me know. I have Miracles and other sundry items for the faithful for sale, should you desire."

"Forgive me for me impiety, but I am not much of a cleric. I can barely manage a Force or Heal, let alone anything you might have. I followed in my family's steps as a chef," Erik explained hastily, almost afraid of what would come next.

"That is all right, not everyone is cut out for the cloth, and they all have their own paths to tred," Licia says kindly and with forgiveness. "Rest by the bonfire if you need to. The road into the Wharf is perilous."

"I thank you for your understanding," Erik said happily, bowing his head again before stepping over to the small fire. Licia turned her gaze back to the ocean, staring out over the waves with an unreadable expression.

As Erik rested and prepared himself he couldn't help but sneak glances at the priestess. She was pretty, in a stern way, and though her robes were torn and used, she wore them well, a portion of her aura bleeding through to her stance. As he watched her Erik couldn't help but think back to his time in Lindelt.

The country was not the largest, but it was strong. The Archdrake Clerics who patrolled the capitol and hunted heretics kept the people safe, and House Osteria reigned supreme from the capitol, their position of leadership not unlike that of a holy family of living saints. For the citizens though as long as one did not practice sorcery or speak against the Church than all was generally fine.

Erik himself was not an overly religious man. Perhaps because he'd lived and worked in such close proximity to the elite of the city he was more jaded to the priests than others might be. Not to say he did not love the gods and believe in them! He'd seen the Gods themselves gift Miracles to the worthy on various holy days and ceremonies, and aside from the Unfaithful Four of Zinder, Zandroe, Calib and Nahr Alma and the Lone One, the War God Faraam, all the others were worshiped in Lindelt. No one god was venerated above the rest. All were greater than mere men, and as such should be worshiped equally. So what was the problem?

The Curse of the Undead that was what! When the chef had fled Lindelt upon discovering his Dark Sign, the country was already in turmoil. More and more Undead rose, more and more bandits stalked the land, and in the outer provinces monster long though extinct were returning to feast on isolated villages. Erik knew it wasn't his problem, not really. He was not a fighter, he couldn't swing a sword or cast a spell or summon bolts of lightning! But when he looked at the young Undead priestess, something filled his heart. A turbulence went through his mind, and he yearned to be able to do something. Seeing her look so morosely out across the waters made him want to help her. But he couldn't. Not in the way that mattered.

"I thank you for indulging me, Lady Licia, but I must be on my way," Erik finally said, rising from the bonfire. The priestess turned and looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was even there, before smiling and nodding.

"Just Licia, my dear. No need for anything else. Be safe on your journey, where ever it may take you."

Erik nodded in understanding before talking her hand giving it a kiss in farewell. She blushed fiercely and turned away back to the ocean. Erik was confused. Had he insulted her? Oh dear, this was the Emerald Herald all over again! He needed to stop kissing every women he met!

…Hold on that sounded wrong…

Erik held back a sigh and instead began to walk over to the tower's exit, which would lead him deeper in the mysteries of Drangleic. He couldn't wait!


	9. Chapter 9: Masked Swordswoman

_**Chapter 9: The Masked Swordswoman and the Armored Merchant**_

"Sloosh! Splash! Gloop!" Erik was not a happy Undead. He was soaking wet from the waist down again, and he really should have seen it coming. After all, why wouldn't an underground passage way built near a sunken city not be flooded with salt water? At least it wasn't sewage like before.

Water dripped and trickled down his pants and out of his shoes as he walked down a slick tunnel, this one hewn from raw stone rather than being part of the well-constructed ruins. It angled oddly, sometimes rising, sometimes dipping, and always winding. It was cramped and narrow as well, barely tall enough for Erik. Which was a good thing. The chef had just ran past the Old Knight Golems, evading half by ducking through a tiny door, the other half by slipping into this tunnel. The only positive side of the pathetic route was it did not have any side passages, which meant he just had to keep moving forward. It was dark, too. Back in the ruins the walls were lined with faintly glowing magical torches, crafted from enchanted amber and gems. In the crude stone tunnel though there was no true light source. Erik had ultimately been forced to light a torch, one of few he'd found and was thankful he'd done so.

It wasn't long before he entered a cave filled with stalactites and stalagmites, faint orange light reflecting off of them and casting twisted shadows everywhere. There, around a veritable forest of earthen pillars, was a bonfire, glowing cheerily in the gloom. What really stuck out to Erik though was the tall person wearing a pointed brimmed hat with a feather sticking out at a jaunty angle, a silver mask shaped like a bearded man, and the overcoat and armor of a knight of Mirrah! They were leaning casually on the cave wall staring into the flames when the chef entered, and they looked up to stare at him. Eventually the Mirrahian knight judged Erik to be non-threatening, and just gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

"Hello sir! I have to say I'm surprised to see another person down here! Do you mind if I share the bonfire with you?" Erik asked, stepping forward into the edges of the mystical flame's warmth.

"What is it? I don't know you, and you don't know me. Things are better that way. So do what you like, I'll not stop you."

Erik blinked in surprise at the voice that came from under the mask. A woman? He took a closer look at the knight, trying to spot something out of place that might confirm his assumption. The uniform the person wore was standard for the elite knights of the Martial Kingdom of Mirrah, and he knew from rumors that gender and social standing meant nothing for obtaining positions of authority, only strength. It wasn't too far out of left field for this masked Undead to be a woman!

"Well, thank you regardless," Erik said and sat down in front of the bonfire. He sighed happily as the water evaporated from his clothes and he finally felt warm and dry again. He couldn't catch colds or illnesses any more, which was perhaps the sole benefit of being an Undead, but being in clammy wet clothing was still unpleasant.

"Do you know anything about the area up ahead?" Erik asked after a few minutes of relaxed silence. He'd seen how the tunnel continued on past the cave, and he could vaguely hear the sounds of waves in the distance.

"The Wharf is beyond the tunnel," the knight said after a moment, looking over at the man across from here. "It used to be the primary port for southern Drangleic, or so I was told. Now though it is overrun with Hollowed pirates and strange black skinned monsters that fear fire and light. Though truthfully I have only been here a day or so."

"I see… thank you regardless for the help, sir," the chef said gratefully, his mind turning to imagine what awaited him.

"My name is Erik Potts, a chef. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." The only reaction from the warrior woman was a slight tilt of her head when he spoke of his profession, but nothing more. The Undead cook shrugged helplessly and went back to looking into the fire and sorting himself out. A few more minutes went by and Erik spent that time looking through his pack. He didn't have much and most of it was cooking related, but he still wanted to have what he needed on hand.

"Sir, do you perhaps have flint and tinder on you? If the monsters you faced are afraid of fire, perhaps we should carry torches to ward them off?" Erik suggested. When she just looked at him without speaking, he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Never mind, it was rude of me to ask, forget I said anything!" For some reason though his timid yet talkative attitude made the Mirrahian knight start to laugh. Softly at first, until it came to a full blown roar. Erik, confused and a tiny bit scared, waited quietly for her to finish.

"Phew… Heh heh. You are an odd one. Normally, people keep a safe distance when they see this mask. But you… I am called Lucatiel. From the land of Mirrah, far to the east across the mountains. They say Drangleic brims with powerful souls. And so I came to claim my share. But what a strange place…Even the rumors did not prepare me," the woman in armor said after she regained control of herself. Privately, the knightess' thoughts on the young Undead were fairly comical. He looked and acted like a little puppy, and was so endearingly innocent.

"You are an odd one, indeed. I've always made a point of avoiding people. While you've made a point of engaging me. I can see that you are mid-journey. If you require assistance, I will help you. I come from Mirrah, a land of knights. My sword is always ready. Don't hesitate to call upon me. Whatever happens, I won't be missed…"

"Truly? Thank you so much for this! Alright, let's go and see if we cannot push through the Wharf and find a way out!"

Lucatiel was taken aback by the cook as he bounced up on his feet, adjusted his pack to fit better, and gave her an eager look.

"…Pardon?"

"So far on my journey I've survived being chased by three Ogres, impalement by a huge armored Undead knight, a Giant, a host of odd armored golem knights, and a duel with a Dragonrider of Heide. I have no doubts that my luck, as amazing as it seems to be, will hold forever. So when you offered to assist me, I was overcome with gratitude! Thank you so much, you won't regret this!"

"I, I meant Soapstones! I'd help you using those!" Lucatiel protested, but found herself swept along in the young man's enthusiasm.

"Why would you bother with that? We're both heading in the same direction, so shouldn't we travel together? It'd be safer and we can work as a team!" Erik belatedly remembered that his 'partner' was a knight, and thus a person of higher standing than himself, and he seemed to shrink in on himself in embarrassment.

Lucatiel just sighed and tried to look away from the puppy-like Undead in front of her, cursing her inability to resist! Damn that brother of hers! Because of him doing such things to her she could never resist such actions!

"Very well," she sighed, giving in. "I shall accompany you. Our path seems to lie in the same direction for now."

"Wonderful! Thank you again!" Erik said happily, grabbing her right hand and bringing it up to his lips. He gave her a quick peck on the knuckles, only to blink and mentally berate himself for doing it again! Lucatiel said and did nothing save for retracting her hand. She was glad for the silver mask hiding her face. She was not sure she could handle the embarrassment! She shook her head and put the thoughts out of her mind. Such a cheesy greeting! Where did he learn that? The knightess stayed silent though, and chose to focus on the next leg of her journey. Packed and ready, the two Undead moved from the bonfire towards the Wharf.

In didn't take long, only a few minutes at most, for the pair to emerge from the cramped passageway into a massive cavern. Built into the interior of a massive cove that was also a deep cave, the Wharf had clearly once been a busy place. Long wooden docks stretched from end to end of the interior, water from the ocean outside lapping against the rocky cliff face into which homes and buildings had been built. Sunlight from the outside poured in, though the overhang of the cave's ceiling blocked most of it. What little light was available was reflected off of the water creating an eerie blue luminescence to the area, allowing a degree of visibility the two had not expected. When night fell though they had no doubts that they would be plunged into a deep darkness.

All in all it was a truly amazing sight. Though many of the buildings were ruins, and the skeletons of old and vast ships were piled up in broken, impromptu graveyards along the docks, the Wharf still carried a sense of grandeur.

The numerous Hollows shambling around slightly spoiled the effect though. Most looked like common sailors and soldiers, while a few of the larger ones wore horned helmets that looked vaguely familiar…

"Varangian pirates," Lucatiel sneered, staring at the Hollowed sea-bandits with a mixture of disgust and grudging acknowledgement. Erik could only nod in agreement. The Varangian had been famous raiders and plunderers back in the old days, with many a legend about their exploits. Fierce and prideful they were the scourge of the waters around Drangleic and the other lands for many generations, until King Vendrick ordered them to be exterminated, and hunted them all down. No one knew why the king had demanded such a harsh campaign, and so soon after the victory over the Giants. The few who'd survived had fled into hiding, but seeing so many of them here and Hollowed showed that the Curse of the Undead must have drawn them to the blasted land as well.

"I never thought I'd get to test my sword against one of them. Truly, Drangleic is a bountiful place," Lucatiel continued, hand resting lightly on her long, slender sword.

"Shall we?" Erik inquired, raising a throwing knife and prepping his pyromancy. The knightess nodded eagerly.

"Let's!" With a battle cry the two charged down into the subterranean docks, ready for an epic battle!

"You fight well for a chef, Erik Potts," Lucatiel said politely as she wiped down her sword. The young Undead nodded his thanks as he gathered throwing knives from some of the fallen Hollows around them. The two were currently sitting in a cozy little house on the side of the cliff, having climbed to it earlier in the day as they'd hacked through Hollows. It was a pleasant trip all things considered. The only foes that gave them any trouble were the Varangian pirates and the strange, deformed monsters of darkness. The latter were the worst of them, so odd and twisted, with their long limbs and rending talons! One had nearly disemboweled Erik when they'd first reached the dry land away from the wooden docks. It had lunged at the two from the shadows and only a frenzied Combustion had startled the beast from completing its attack on the chef. Lucatiel slew it by lopping its head off, and the two hadn't seen another since.

Right now they were taking a break from all the excitement, hiding in one of the houses as well as counting their meagre loot. Only a few impressive items had been found, most interestingly an Estus Flask Shard and a Royal Soldier's Ring.

"Thank you, Sir Lucatiel. I've never seen a thing like that before. Have you?"

"No, never. Keep in mind I've only been in Drangleic a few months now and have not seen the entirety of this place's wonders. Perhaps they are a common monster around these parts," Lucatiel mused. "And you need not add 'sir' to my name, or use it when you address me. I was a commoner before I rose the ranks, and never felt comfortable with it as part of my titles."

"I shall try to remember that, si- I mean Lucatiel." Erik finished his rounds, stabbing one of the Hollowed bodies at his feet and sighing in satisfaction as it gurgled and "died" again.

"That was fairly ruthless. I did not think you had it in you," the knightess admitted, a hint of approval in her tone.

"At first I was hesitant, but these past few days in Drangleic have forced me to re-evaluate myself. They'll just revive in time, and is it not better to keep them down? I do not know if they can truly stay dead, but I would not wish the fate of the mindless on anyone," Erik said softly. He truly did not find such actions approvable, yet he knew it had to be done. Once you Hollowed, there was no turning back. Besides, the one he'd stabbed was a Varagian. Pirates and bandits were cruel and capricious. Better they be the ones to stay dead for good than other, kinder folks.

It didn't make him feel much better about his actions though. He knew it had to be done, but he didn't have to like it. He couldn't see under Lucatiel's mask, but he felt as if she was agreeing with him with her sad yet understanding gaze. That made him feel a little bit better.

"Well, shall we move on?" The knightess of Mirrah inquired, standing up from a surprisingly intact stool.

"Yes," Erik said resolutely, opening the door to the house and stepping out, Lucatiel close behind. Nothing jumped out to immediately attack them, thankfully, though the growl of an Undead Dog carried over to them. Erik grimaced. He liked dogs and cats and pets in general, but those blasted furless corpse hounds had quickly gotten onto his nerves. Lucatiel took care of it through, thrusting her sword forward just as the undead animal leapt, impaling and slaying it.

Marching forward, the duo hacked their up to the top of the town, a long, stark stone ridge encircling the buildings below. They were so close to the ceiling it wouldn't take much effort to touch the moisture slick surface with their hands. It was much darker though, and Erik had started carrying a lit torch. The shadows were banished, but in doing so it revealed something much worse. Where the light touched, more of the large, long-limbed horrors scuttled back, lurking in the darkness with their red eyes glaring in ravenous fury at the humans as they marched past.

Not even Lucatiel's nerve could stand up the constant scrutiny, and she shivered as they made their way through the numerous shadow monsters. A few had attacked them early on, but were driven back. They hated fire, and as long as the torch was lit all would be fine. There wasn't much light though which meant Lucatiel had to stand close to Erik and share the single torch. As the heavy hitter, Erik didn't want her to have to distract herself with holding a source of light, and instead focus on fending off the dark-dwelling monsters. She'd agreed, albeit grudgingly.

Now though they were nearly to the other side, a large wooden building looming ahead. As they neared though Lucatiel tapped Erik on the shoulder to get his attention.

"What?"

"Up there," she said, pointing to the second floor of the nearby building. Most of the wall on the right side seemed to have been torn off, and there standing against the wall was a person in huge, barrel-like armor and a unique helmet. A thin, flickering lantern seemed to be hanging on a hook next to the figure, though anything more was hard to see due to distance and gloom.

"Who do you think it is?" Erik asked, staring up at the man.

"I don't know, but they might be a Hollow, or a threat," Lucatiel warned. As she said this the helmeted head turned to look at the approaching light source, and waved a large hand down at them. It wasn't a panicked, "help me!" wave or a "stay back!" wave, but a gesture of greeting.

"Seems to be a nice person," Erik replied with a smile, waving back. "Let's go see what he's doing. He might have some information for us about the area."

Lucatiel was not convinced, but followed the chef's lead regardless. She could have argued, but honestly she trusted this young man's ideas and intuition. He hadn't steered her wrong so far, and she didn't have any better ideas.

The front of the building was missing, huge chunks torn away just like the second floor. Erik wasn't sure how it happened, but he had a feeling he didn't want to meet whatever had done this.

Glancing around, the Undead chef spotted a door on the left. There didn't seem to be anything else around, as most of the furniture was splinters and dust, so he walked over. As he did he thought he heard a gruff voice shout "Don't open!"

Too late. Erik turned the doorknob and barely got the door open, when it was smashed down and the cook was pinned beneath the plank of wood, causing the torch to fall out of his grasp and start sputtering on the ground. Lucatiel swore and moved in a blur as soon as the shadow monsters lunged and tore the door down.

One, two! One two! Parry, dodge, riposte, and stab! Lucatiel was a flashing whirlwind of death, her blade reaping a bloody harvest through the monsters that were trying to pour from beyond the ruined doorframe. Limbs and claws went flying and the dark beasts roared in pain and fury. Their weight was surprisingly not as bad as Erik had first thought, but they were stamping on the door that now pinned him down, making his ribs and bones creak and cry in protest.

Drawn by the sounds of battle, the lurking monsters the chef and the knightess had passed by suddenly began lumbering towards them, shrieking in a cacophony of terrible, shrill cries. Lucatiel swore again. She was already hard pressed to fend off the quartet of shadow beasts before her, and now she had to deal with three more?! Before she could lament her fate anymore, a bellow echoed from above them, and a fat looking figure fell and crashed outside on top of the approaching dark spawned creatures. It leapt to its feet and Mirrah gasped in surprise. It was the man from the second floor! It was hard to miss the bulky, brownish armor and distinctive helmet. A glowing lantern was hanging from a belt, and in its hands a gargantuan weapon was clutched.

"Ha ha! Gavlan wheel! Gavlan deal! Deal death! Ha ha!" The newcomer tore into the monsters with an outrageously large double headed battle axe, each blow slaying a monster. With his arrival, the attackers were all put down.

Looking around the battlefield, the stout warrior laughed and walked over to where Erik was still pinned. His companion gripped her blade tightly and eyed the man warily, but did nothing at the moment.

"Gavlan try to warn!" the figure boomed, lifting the door with one hand and tossing it aside, before helping Erik to his feet.

"Thank you for the help. And, err, sorry for not hearing your warning," Erik said sheepishly. Their helper just shrugged.

"Is fine, is good! Dark Ones trap Gavlan. Too many. You drew attention. I repay help. Is Gyrm way!"

"Gyrm?" Erik and Lucatiel said as one, surprised. Legends spoke of such beings. Inhuman, but powerful. Strong as a Giant but shorter than a man. Driven from their ancestral homeland long ago by greedy and evil humans who decried them as monsters and abominations. Erik winced as he remembered just which group had done most of that. Lindelt had been founded near the Gyrm lands and it was the Church and its clerics who formed the crusades and commanded the exterminations. They had fled the mainland long ago, and rumors had spoken of a secret Gyrm kingdom founded in the deepest reaches of Drangleic.

"Yes, Gyrm! I Gavlan. I merchant. Trade souls, many souls!" The armored warrior-merchant declared, pulling out a strange looking chest from his side.

"Oh my! Is that a Bottomless Box?" Lucatiel gasped, and the abhuman nodded.

"Yes! Is good! You trade?"

"Sure, let's see what you have," Erik said. The Gyrm bobbed happily, and started to remove and show what he currently carried. Poison drenched knives and arrows seemed to be the main things he sold, along with a few samples of Rotten Pine Resin and some dried Poison Moss. The latter was useful, and Erik snatched up a few clumps, plus some poisoned knives. The chef ignored the knightess's disapproving glance at that. Poison was dishonorable, true, but it could still harm the Undead. Plus, poisoned Hollows took longer to resurrect. It was useful, and Erik knew he would need every advantage. As he gathered his purchases, he saw something glint dully in the lamplight. Frowning he reached down and picked it up, bringing it closer to examine. A large ring, seemingly hewn from stone. A gasp from Lucatiel told him it was apparently something precious.

"A Giant's Ring!" At the men's confused looks, the knight of Mirrah explained. "A Giant's Ring is a famous magical item for knights. Originally made for Shieldless Lothian, one of the Generals of King Vendrick, copies were made to honor his death at the hands of the Giants. Each ring is made of enchanted granite, and it boosts the combat skill of a knight! Wearing it increases Poise by a large amount!"

"Poise?" Erik and Gavlan echoed, and Lucatiel chuckled at their bewildered expressions.

"When you're fighting, do you feel that your weapon is a part of you? That you can control it far better than another might be able to? That is Poise. Not magic, or miracle, it is skill and talent, and something all knights cultivate. Without Poise I could not parry and riposte as well as I do. It enables me to block attacks without staggering, or strike even faster and with greater accuracy. I myself have cultivated 150 Poise in my life. Few knights ever reach one hundred. Amongst the warriors of Mirrah, I am considered an elite," Lucatiel elaborated, smiling proudly under her mask. Erik was wowed, and applauded her when she was finished.

"That's amazing! I never knew there was so much to fighting and combat!"

"Most people don't realize this either. In the past the Miracles of Faraam could boost Poise temporarily, but with the fall of Forossa, much of their war priests' knowledge had been lost," Lucatiel admitted, a tad sadly. "Back on the topic of the ring, I'd have to say that that Giant's Ring is an original, one of the first ones crafted, and not a mere knock-off."

"Hmm…" Erik mused, tapping his chin. He then turned to Gavlan and beckoned him over. The Gyrm complied, and the two were soon talking in hushed tones. Lucatiel tilted her head to the side, curious as to what they were discussing. After a moment, a flash of souls being transferred lit up the area, and Erik shook hands with Gavlan, who took the offered hand happily.

"Many thanks!" The Gyrm bellowed.

"Here, Lucatiel. For you," Erik said, walking over to his protector and companion. She blinked and froze in surprise as the Undead chef held out the ring they'd been discussing moments before.

"That, that," Lucatiel stammered, not sure of what was happening.

"Here, the Giant's Ring will do you more help than I. Take it, it's a gift of sorts," Erik said kindly, still holding out the ring to the stunned woman.

"But, that, it must have been expensive," she gasped out. Erik shrugged.

"A little bit. Gavlan wanted 7,000 souls, but I talked him down to five grand," Erik said. He'd have paid the whole price, honestly. Slaying the Dragonrider and the Old Knight Golems back at Heide had given him a good supply of souls with which to barter. But it wasn't a shopping trip if you couldn't haggle the price a bit, and Erik was used to such dealings back in Lindelt.

"This is too much," Lucatiel protested, and Erik frowned.

"Give me your hand," the chef commanded, and the force in his tone was enough that she reacted without thinking, holding out her left hand. Grabbing it so it couldn't escape, Erik then quickly slid the Giant's Ring onto her ring finger, ultimately forcing her to accept his gift. Once more Lucatiel was thankful for the mask as she blushed crimson at the audaciousness of the young man before her. Behind them Gavlan burst into laughter at the sight, clearly aware of the more intimate meanings of this human gesture.

Erik looked up, oblivious, and smiled happily at Lucatiel.  
"There! Now you can't refuse my gift!"

"Yes…" the knightess mumbled, mostly to herself.

"Smooth! Smooth like good alcohol!" Gavlan chortled. Erik, still uncomprehending, just shrugged.

"Um, Gavlan, do you mind me asking how you learned the Common Tongue? I wasn't aware the Gyrm spoke it," 'or tolerated humans,' Erik added in his mind.

"That sad story. Gavlan live with Gyrm. Live. Work. Love. But one day Curse appeared. Gavlan first of the Undead for the Gyrm. Life beyond death great shame, for cannot join ancestors now. So Galvan exiled. I leave, and I wander. Many years alone, almost go Hollow," the warrior-merchant said sadly, his voice a deep baritone.

"But one day, Gavlan meet human. He also Undead, but he not hate Gyrm. He like knowledge and treasure not fighting and blood. He named Pharros. He teach me much. I learn from him. I respect him. But one day he leave, to explore the Deep Dark. Never comes back. Gavlan sad, but can do nothing. Only keep memory alive. Help Undead like Pharros. Not all humans bad. Some mean, but some nice."

Erik and Lucatiel were touched by the kindness of this gentle warrior, and impressed by his fortitude. Not to mention the fact that he'd known the Dungeon Delver, the Trap Master, the famed Inventor-Lord Pharros.

"Gavlan show you way out." With that, Gavlan broke aside their thoughts and walked out to an area of the upper Wharf they hadn't reached yet. There, they came across a trio of holes in the ground, shaped like a face. Reaching into a pocket, Gavlan removed a cube the size of his head, and lowered it into the "mouth" of the face. The cube was a magnificent block of finely carved marble, with dozens if not hundreds of grooves and lines running through it. Placing the cube into the socket, a rumbling echoed through the cave, and the two humans tensed. The Gyrm remained calm and he pointed to the ceiling.

Mouths wide the chef and knight watched as a giant crystal lowered itself to reside over the center of the entire Wharf, before bursting into brilliant blue light. Everything was illuminated, and screams and hisses could be heard echoing from the dark corners as the light fearing Dark Stalkers scurried away as their flesh bubbled and sizzled in the light.

"That cube and that face… are they some of Pharros' contraptions?" Lucatiel asked, impressed. The whole area now shone as if it was midday, though with a distinct bluish tinge to the color of the light. Gavlan however shook his head.

"No. Not Pharros. Humans call them 'Pharros' Lockstones' and 'Pharros Contraptions' but he no make them. He merely discover them and how they work." Gavlan pulled a second one out of his pocket, showing it to them. On closer inspection, the lines and grooves were far too symmetrical and perfect to be an accident, but who or what could make such a precise set of designs?

"Each Lockstone made to fit the faces. Old machines. Bit of magic, bit of talent. Each do something. This one here make light. Scare off monsters. Used by people who found the cave. Lost when all went Hollow. Gavlan and Pharros study these, but not know who made them. But old. Very old. Older than Gyrm, older than the Gods," Gavlan explained. "Here, take. Gift for friends."

He passed them the cube, and Erik it took it with a bow of his head.

"Thank you, Gavlan. We'll treat it with care."

"Some Contraptions hide treasure. Some hide secrets. Be safe on trip. If want to move to next area, ring bell," the merchant said, pointing into the distance where a fairly large sized bell stood, just waiting to be rung.

"Good bye friends. Meet again someday." With that, Gavlan marched off, humming a tune under his breath.

"Well, best get on with it then," Erik said, turning to Lucatiel with a smile. She merely looked past him, avoiding his eyes. The chef frowned. Was she mad at him?

He mentally shrugged and started to walk down to a nearby building, ready to head to the next stage of his journey.

 **Author's Note: Well, here we go! So many people have stated they were looking forward to Lucatiel, and I finally deliver! Hopefully I can do her justice.**


	10. Chapter 10: A Pirate's Life for Me!

_**Chapter 10: Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a Pirate's Life for Me!**_

Descending from the top took slightly longer than ascending had, mostly because the only way down was through houses and buildings. Many of the stairs on the left most side of the Wharf had either collapsed on been buried by rubble, making it hard to proceed. Erik and Lucatiel were forced to cut through dwellings and hop down ledges to reach the lower levels, and that meant the fighting was more intense. Melee combat in close quarters is hard with a long blade like Lucatiel's, so she had to switch to using a Parrying Dagger as her primary weapon in the cramped spaces they traveled through. Not that it impeded them much.

With the Giant's Ring on Lucatiel's finger, she found herself able to do more with the smaller weapon than she'd originally imagined. It made clearing the way much easier. At one of the buildings the duo rang the bell Gavlan had pointed out. Nothing happened for a while so they'd shrugged and moved on. However, now they saw what the point for the bell was.

Gliding into the harbor was a large ship, with tattered ropes, sails, and flags. It looked like a Varangian pirate ship but upgraded with lots and lots of chains. As the chef and knightess watched the boat draw closer, they saw what it was for. Dozens of Hollows were chained to the sides or stuffed inside cages on the deck, and there were perhaps many more in the hold based on the muffled moans and howls that reverberated from the very depths. Instead of a pirate's flag though the flag it flew bore the symbol of Vendrick; a large tree with a blazing fire clutched in its roots. Was this what had been used to corral and transport the Undead before Drangleic fell? The thought unnerved them, and the Chef and Knightess approached with caution.

As they did, the pair spotted a most unusual sight; a white haired man sitting cross legged on the docks, just staring up at the luminous crystal. He wore robes common to a sorcerer of Melfia, though neither Erik nor Lucatiel recognized who he was. To fair though, Lindelt despised the practice of sorcery and was in an almost constant state of war with the nation of mages, and Mirrah wasn't geographically close enough to either country that she'd know who was important or not with a glance.

After cutting down some more Varangian pirates and confirming that the Dark Stalkers were confined to the shadows, the chef and knightess made their way to the old man.

"Greeting, sir. Are you perhaps in need of assistance?" Erik called out as they approached. The man looked up, his eyes brimming with indignation at being interrupted from… whatever he was doing. But when he laid eyes on the Undead who'd spoken to him they widened before taking on a predatory gleam.

"Hmm… I sense power… Very well. From this day, you shall be my new pupil. I am Carhillion. Carhillion of the Fold. Surely you've heard the name? Now, now, do not be afraid. Let us explore the limits of sorcery."

Erik took a step back under the sudden proclamation, as did Lucatiel.

"Were you talking to me, or to her?" Erik asked after a brief pause, jabbing a thumb from himself to the warrior from Mirrah.

"I was talking to you my boy! Such bright eyes and bright soul! You'll make a powerful sorcerer indeed! Where did you train, boy? Speak up!" The elderly wizard demanded.

"Sir, you must be mistaken. I am no sorcerer, just a mere chef! And if you must know where I am from, I hail from Lindelt. The name's Erik Potts." The Undead cook mentioned this last part almost as an afterthought.

"Lindelt? Pah, no wonder you don't have the proper attire or training! Those buffoons wouldn't know brilliance if it bit them in their padded rears! I shall have to give you the crash course it seems," Carhillion said in disappointment.

"I fear you must be mistaken. The boy does not have an affinity for spells. If anything, fire is his domain," Lucatiel said on Erik's behalf. She did not like this old man's pushy attitude or his rough way of speaking.

"Pyromancer, is it? Not what I'm used to but I can make do. Flames are an aspect of magic, just as the soul is. More so, if you believe those fairy tales about the First Flame," Carhillion mused without a hint of dejection, or a sense of giving up.

"Mr. Carhillion, I do not mean to be rude, but I'm not interested in learning anything right now. I'm on a bit of a journey at the moment," Erik explained, trying to convince the old sorcerer to give up. And it was true. Ever since the floating Gaol had appeared, Erik had felt a sudden urge to board it, as if the vessel would take him to where he needed to go. He did not understand why, but the Soul of the Last Giant was also throbbing painfully, urging the chef to follow the commands in his soul.

In response, Carhillion's face fell for a bit before taking on its normal gruff expression.

"Hmph. In that case, do as you like. I may travel back to Majula soon anyways to gather more reagents and materials for my spells. Seek me out there if you decide to take my training." Erik bowed his head in thanks, before glancing at the crystal in the sky above them, suspended by chains.

"Might I ask what you were doing before we bothered you?"

"I'd felt some strong and unusual magic in this place when I was passing through," the grumpy sorcerer said after a bit. "I'd looked everywhere but I could not find the source. Then all of a sudden, that crystal descends and explodes with light! Immediately I could sense the magic again, all coming from the amazing device! I have no idea who made it, but it appears to be a Cast Light spell anchored to the crystal and fueled by an unknown power source! An extremely impressive feat! Most spells would have decayed after only a decade, let alone a century, but this one appears to have endured for millennia, at least!"

"That is impressive!" Erik agreed, and Carhillion nodded, glad to see someone could recognize brilliance when they saw it.

"Indeed. I've been mediating and trying to trace the magic back to its fuel source, but all for naught. But I'm certain I will reach the answer in time."

"Well then, I suppose my friend and I should leave you to it. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carhillion. May we see each other in Majula someday!" Erik said, bidding the sorcerer farewell. He just gave a nod, and turned his head back up to the ceiling, fixing his gaze back to the mysterious stone.

Moving off towards the ship, the two Undead adventurers shared a look over the unusual eccentric man.

"…Are all sorcerers so high-strung and pushy?" Lucatiel asked after a moment, to which Erik just shrugged.

"I don't know. Sorcery is illegal in Lindelt, and practioners are branded as heretics and hunted down. Even living near a sorcerer is enough to warrant an investigation. As such, he's the first I've ever met."

The Mirrahian knight nodded at that.

"We don't have many sorcerers in Mirrah. The few we do have are trained in very specialized magic involving sound and disguise. The Knights of Shadow, assassins and hunters of clerics, pyromancers, and other sorcerers. They do not mingle with the rank-and-file, or appear on the battlefield. I only know of them because my brother…" At this, Lucatiel paused, and Erik shot her a concerned look. She just shook her head to show everything was fine before speaking again. "Anyways, the point is I have not encountered a 'traditional' sorcerer before."

The pair was silent as they approached the sailing vessel, the groaning Hollows chained upon and within it sending a spear of fear through their hearts. Upon the hull they could finally see the ship's name, written in faded and peeling white paint; _Caitha's Chains_. Named for the Goddess of Tears, who wept for all suffering and sorrow and brought solace to victims. It was an appropriate name for a floating vessel of misery. Swallowing a lump of apprehension Erik stepped up the gangplank and onto the deck of the ship. Immediately an arrow whizzed past his ear and fell into the water behind him. The only reason he wasn't wearing the projectile between his eyes was because Lucatiel had shoved the cook aside at the last moment.

"Thanks!" Erik shouted, hurling a throwing knife into the Varangian archer and causing it to stagger. Lucatiel rushed forward, sword spinning in elaborate arcs, mowing down the pirates that rushed up from below to confront the intruders. Meanwhile, Erik moved to cover the knightess' back, tossing knives and igniting Hollows armed with ranged weapons. In moments corpses littered the deck, and the way below beckoned. Erik entered, and a flight of stairs and a hold of wailing Hollows later he came face to face with a fog gate. Lucatiel frowned, having encountered these phenomena before, and steeled herself. Together, the chef and the knight entered the swirling vortex, bringing up weapons.

What the pair now faced was much worse than they'd expected. So far, the two travelers had run into all manner of foes, from Hollows to berserk animals, and even a legendary being in Erik's case. But this was so much worse.

"Kill contain kill contain kill contain kill…!" Before them was a pair of large Varangian pirates, men who'd probably been captains or clan leaders based on their sheer size, but now forcibly stitched together, back to back. At the waist their flesh was melded together as if their skin and bone had melted and flowed together, but had also been pinned to each other with thick iron nails. One carried a massive spiked club while the other clutched two large rusted scimitars. Each head was jabbering and muttering words that overlapped each other creating a blood chilling mantra.

"Take the sword-swinging Hollow, I'll handle the club!" Erik shouted and the two quickly split up, targeting their opponent. It blurred, moving too fast for something that was apparently a cruel form of torture. Leaping and splashing into the thin film of water at their feet, the twin Hollows spun like a whirlwind, faster than even Lucatiel could manage to move. They dodged however, and quickly started their counter attack.

Erik slashed with his dagger and smashed Combustions into the rotting flesh of the massive double Hollow, while Lucatiel pricked the flesh of her foe before driving it deeper and leaving deep gashes. The monster howled and constantly tried to retaliate but it was useless. If this had been just Erik or Lucatiel, they would have fallen to this berserk yet talented warrior. However, with the two of them, their attacks became coordinated so that when Erik drew the attention of the club wielder and it tried to smash him aside, Lucatiel would attack and force the duel scimitar wielder to focus on her and inadvertently disrupt the other Hollow's movements.

It was over in minutes, the foe driving itself to defeat through the very nature of its construction. With a final gurgle, the spliced pirate captains collapsed into the water around them, Erik's dagger rammed into its ribs. A torrent of white soul specks floods into the two Undead, and they gasp under the boost of power they suddenly felt. At the same time, a black and reddish hued soul floated out of the slain foe and into Erik. He tensed, as like with the Dragonrider, images seared themselves into his mind.

Two twin brothers, both skilled warriors in their own rights. Neither wanted to usurp the other for control of their pirate fleet, so they became one. The infamous Flexile Brothers of Varangian! Suddenly, a shift. The two brothers, fighting off swarms of Syan's Knights and Royal Soldiers who'd laid a trap for the pirates. The two same brothers, cut down by Velstadt himself. Awakening in chains, the Dark Sign having manifested on their crushed remains. Two men, staring down at them. One a tall, elegant man in a crown who radiated a sense of divinity. The other, no taller than a normal human, but who filled the twins with absolute terror. Commanded to serve as Undead slavers, trawling up and down the coast, capturing Undead and bringing them to the smaller man. Aldia. Erik jerked as he felt the twins scream in pain as they were physically bonded to each other, and then tethered to the ship with foul blood rituals performed by a tall dour woman in white who craved light but was little more than fractured Darkness and Desire…

"Blerg!" Erik doubled over as the memories faded, vomit dribbling from his lips as he returned to his senses. This time the visions had been clearer. Erik wished they hadn't been. The things he'd seen… the atrocities… was this the true nature of King of Souls Vendrick?

"Erik, are you alright?" Lucatiel hurried over to his side, worried when she saw him spew all over the floor.

"Fine, just nerves loosening after a fight," Erik lied, waving off her concern. The knightess frowned but nodded, unwilling to force an answer just yet.

Wiping his mouth Erik stood up and looked to where the fog had faded. Something deeper inside called to him, and he soon entered the captain's quarters. Sitting in one corner was a treasure chest, while in the other was some sort of astronomical mobile of some sort, combined with a heavily ornamented map. Puzzled, Erik reached out and touched the central orb of the device, jerking away when it whirred to life, emitting a faint white glow. All of a sudden the ship lurched, and Erik all but fell over. Thankfully Lucatiel caught him before he hurt himself.

"What was that?" She asked, and Erik could only shrug. Heading up to the deck to investigate, they saw a glow filling the sails and wrapping around the wheel, similar to the one on the astro-globe. Furthermore, the ship itself was moving out of the cove all by itself, somehow directed and controlled by a form of magic! In awe, the two Undead didn't notice the sprinting form of an old robed sorcerer approaching them until a glow erupted under his feet and he flew into the air before crashing onto the deck in front of them.

"What in the…!" Lucatiel shouted, drawing her sword before restraining herself when she saw it was Carhillion who'd suddenly dropped in!

"Phew! That was a rush! I was afraid I'd misjudged the spell's power and would miss the boat all together!" The elderly Melfian laughed.

"Um, hello again Mr. Carhillion. Is there a problem?" Erik asked, hesitantly.

"Problem? Of course there is! This ship is moving through some sort of magical spell and method I do not know and you expect me to let it go? I will uncover this secret, and make it my own!" Carhillion shouted excitedly, the passion of a scholar having ignited in his soul.

"What about the light crystal?" Was honestly all Lucatiel could respond with. The sorcerer just waved his hand dismissively.

"Bah, that giant hunk of rock isn't going anywhere! This thing is, and I'll be damned if I let an opportunity escape me!" Erik and Lucatiel shared a look and then sighed in tandem. It seemed they gained a very 'interesting' new member, for better or for worse.


	11. Chapter 11: Fish Dinner and Backstories

_**Chapter 11: Fish Dinner and Histories Revealed**_

"Heave, ho!" With a splash, the Varangian pirate's body that was thrown overboard hit the water and proceeded to sink thanks to its armor. For the past few hours the team of Undead humans had been cleaning house, or ship as it were. The pirates were Undead as well, so in time they'd reanimate. Having a ship filled with resurrecting foes was not ideal, and it was fairly cramped already. Furthermore, Erik wanted to release the Hollows who'd been chained up and imprisoned. It was cruel to have them remain bound to the ship with rusty – and on closer inspection, barbed – chains, or locked in cramped cages. Lucatiel and Carhillion both agreed, and went about freeing the damned souls, letting them fall lightly into the water. Most were far too gone to do more than gnash their teeth and moan, and they bobbed for a bit before sinking under the waves.

Lastly, there was the Flexile Sentry. It was too dangerous to leave alone, and to ensure it could not come after then when it revived, Erik had jammed a poisoned knife into each throat and then wrapped it in chains before tossing it overboard. Even the elderly sorcerer had been disgusted when he saw the remains and felt the tainted magic that had held it captive to the ship and its orders.

When Erik asked why the Hollows didn't appear at bonfire they he and the rest did when they died, Carhillion explained it was because they lacked Humanity and a mind. The bonfires were potent sources of magic which attracted Humanity to them. Unhollowed Undead possessed this substance which was why Undead were teleported to a nearby Bonfire upon death. Since becoming Hollow meant you lost your Humanity, the bonfire would no longer accept you, but if they possessed souls they could revive until those ran out.

Carhillion then had to explain what Humanity – with a capitol 'H' – was. Basically, he described it as the essence of what makes a person a person. Even a Hollow has souls, which is what animates them. But Humanity is what allows humans to think and feel and reason. Take it away and one is no better than an animal. Even non-humans like Gyrm and the Lion Clan had a form of Humanity in them which granted their mind the power to think and feel.

Humanity could be extracted from non-Undead corpses and then processed into Human Effigies which an Undead could use to temporarily resist Hollowification, and restore themselves to their original form. It had other uses, but the sorcerer didn't elaborate.

Lucatiel had gasped at the last bit of information before excusing herself. Erik had been curious, but let her go. Instead he proceeded to remove one of the Human Effigies he'd collected and examined it. The ominous black wicker-cage looking idol had always intrigued Erik, but he hadn't understood why. Now that he knew what to look for, there was a tingle of something within it. Not magical, because that was easy to detect. This was more subtle, which made Erik even more curious about the Curse of the Undead. There were other thing to look into as well.

With the ship clear of Hollows, it was time to open the treasure chest! Carhillion had already left to examine the astro-globe, and Lucatiel was somewhere doing something, so the young cook meandered to the captain's quarters once more.

Side stepping the old man, the chef carefully popped the lid of the wooden container open, and was slightly disappointed. There wasn't much inside. A few gold coins, cheap looking jewelry, a scroll for a spell, and a red seed that seemed to flicker with heat and inner flames. The gold and jewelry was worthless, but the scroll and seed might be useful. Unfurling the parchment, Erik saw to his surprise that it was a spell scroll for the Pyromancy spell Fireball. A ranged fire-based attack was actually useful, and would serve him well.

Carrying a spell scroll allowed a person to have immediate access to the spell formula necessary to cast magic. Even Miracles worked similarly. A person with sufficient talent could cast a spell without requiring a scroll; all they needed was to memorize the formula and incantations, chant it without a mistake, then direct it to a foe. Such a string of actions was all but useless on a fast paced battlefield, so scrolls allowed a person to instantly channel the formula and all the caster needed was to supply the soul energy to produce the effect. Of course, carrying too many scrolls was as dangerous as it was efficient. Channeling too much magic around too many spell scrolls had the risk of casting the wrong spell, or all of them at once and creating a massive backlash. So a caster had to be careful.

It wasn't a problem for Erik just yet. He had enough control over his pyromancy he could manage to carry two spells at once right now without worrying about complications. Three or more was where it got trickier.

The odd, wooden seed was more interesting at the moment. He wondered if Carhillion would know what it was.

"Mr. Carhillion, have you ever seen something like this before?" Erik spoke up causing the sorcerer to glance over, annoyed, before his jaw dropped.

"Is that a Fire Seed?!" He asked, rushing over and staring at the bulbous object in the cook's hand.

"Maybe?"

"Let me see that!" Erik complied and the Melfian quickly poured over it, prodding it and mumbling. After a while he passed it back.

"That is indeed a Fire Seed, a rare and special tool for a Pyromancer. Do you know what a Pyromancy glove is?"

"Enchanted leather that allows one to control flames through the medium of a soul," Erik replied, reciting what he knew. Carhillion nodded in agreement.

"Indeed. But it is a weak crutch, nothing like a true Pyromancy Flame."

"What is that?"  
"That is the secret of power for the Pyromancers of ages past. You see, Fire Seeds are natural catalysts for Pyromancy. By imbedding it into their flesh, the old Pyromancers could cast fire spells without the need of a glove! The fire was a part of them at that point, allowing them to use their powers anytime, anywhere, and with a greater affinity for it."

"That's amazing! But you said they had to imbed the Seed into themselves… does that hurt or have adverse effects?" This sounded really useful for him, as long as it didn't have any drawbacks.

"If you don't have enough soul and willpower, then the Fire Seed will drain you dry, and eventually you'll spontaneously combust," Carhillion warned, and Erik gulped in fear. Oh. That sounded bad. And painful. And messy.

"Just one Fire Seed won't cause that to happen though. That risk only starts to arise when a Pyromancer absorbs two or more Fire Seeds. The power boost is phenomenal, but carries risks. I think it would be useful for you. Sorcery is not your cup of tea, but Pyromancy suits you well. If you want, I can infuse the Fire Seed into you right now," Carhillion offered, and Erik paused.

On one hand, greater firepower. On the other, exploding. Still, he did say it was safe with just one…

"Go ahead. I'll need every edge," Erik decided, and the sorcerer nodded.

"In which hand do you want the Fire Seed to be implanted?"

"Left please, it's the hand I wear my glove on, and I'm used to using it that way," Erik said, before holding it out along with the Fire Seed.

Closing his eyes Carhillion closes his hands around Erik's left hand and the potent artifact, before blue light tinged with red and later purple seeped out from the concealed appendage. Erik winced as a searing pain cut into his palm, but he endured. The feeling faded quickly and soon Carhillion removed his hands revealing a dark spot in the center of his left hand. A slight heat emanated from it, and now it looked like there were flames writhing under his skin.

"You'll want to be careful with it for a while. It may take a bit to get used to have the fire right at your fingertips. Try to avoid setting things on fire when you touch them," the old sorcerer requested.

"Can do," Erik said, a hint of awe in his tone as he stared at his left hand and felt the power hiding within.

"Why don't more people use this method, besides the obvious dangers?" Erik asked after a bit, flexing his wrist.

"Fire Seeds are rare. They take years to mature, and they only grow in very specific locations and conditions. Plus, when a Pyromancer dies with a Fire Seed in them, their corpse often immolates itself, destroying the Seed so it cannot be recycled," Carhillion explained, and Erik thanked him for the help, before turning to leave.

"I'll be making dinner soon, so if you want to join me and Lucatiel, you're most welcome. It's going to be fish." The sorcerer nodded thoughtfully and accepted.

"Been a while since I've had a warm meal, so I'll take you up on the offer."

"You are a resourceful chef. I wouldn't have been able to make a meal out of the paltry ingredients available to us," Lucatiel praised as she watched Erik go about his work on the deck.

He'd set up a small impromptu cooking area near the bow, where the wind wouldn't mess with his preparations. He had absolutely refused to use the gallery onboard Caitha's Chains. Mostly because it had been converted into a Hollow holding pen, since Undead do not need to eat, and it was utterly filthy and under equipped. A small portable cooking brazier had been scrounged up thankfully, so they didn't have to eat cold food.

Fishing lines had caught a good number of fish, including some puny Shallow Sea Bass and a quartet of lean looking Wavefresh Tuna.

The Undead cook did not have too many resources either. A lot of what he could make involved either vastly different ingredients, but also lots of fresh water for boiling and steaming and cleaning. Salt water just did not cut it. But, Erik had found a recipe in Donovan's tome that detailed a salt water cooking method that was perfect for fish.

Currently the fish was roasting on the small brazier, the flesh charring slightly as he prepared the seasonings. First, he boiled a pot of salt water while chopping up some clumps of Poison Moss, Amber Herbs, and parsley. Once he was sure it was all finely diced, he added them all to the boiling salt water and let it stew for a minute or so as he check on the fish. Once Erik was satisfied with the state of the seafood, he removed it and placed it on a trio of plates he'd brought out.

Lucatiel sniffed the air and sighed in anticipation. During the march through the Wharf, Erik had only prepared some simple rations for the two of them to eat. While still vastly superior to the army rations she'd eaten before, the scent of cooked fish filled her with hunger and a promise that it would be a glorious feast.

In time Carhillion stumbled out of the captain's quarter as well, drawn by the smell of food, and Erik chuckled as he heard deafening roars from the two Undead's stomachs.

"Been a while since you've had anything edible, huh?" Erik teased, making the Mirrahian huff.

"We don't need to eat, and most foodstuffs that can be scavenged are spoiled or taste awful. We learned how to ignore the hunger pangs," Carhillion explained. "Plus, most who wind up in Drangleic don't have much talent in making anything more than bean-and-rock soup."

"Yeesh. Well, hopefully I can provide better fare than that," Erik said, taking the pot away from the flames and straining the contents. He shuddered at the thought of the infamous bean-and-rock soup, also called "Beggar's Soup."

The recipe for Beggar's Soup was very simple. Take some beans and then boil them. Add some small pebbles to make it look like your soup has more substance to it. In a pinch, beans are optional. Rocks are not. Eat while hot and try to avoid tasting it.

Using the Handmaiden's Ladle, Erik scooped out the boiled plants and spread them over the fish before handing the dishes out to his comrades.

"Tonight is a simple fish dish with a special garnish. I used Poison Moss, Amber Herbs, and parsley to make what is known as Ocean Spray Garnish. The Poison Moss has a sharp flavor that is only drawn out more fully by the sea salt. Amber Herbs have a more subtle taste, somewhat like a mix of a turnip and crisp cabbage. It brings out the other subtle flavors in foods, making fish have a stronger punch while being balanced by the parsley. Parsley absorbs and mitigates the overwhelming saltiness that would normally come as a result of using sea water, and is a common addition to seafood dishes. And that is the Potts Family famous Ocean Spray Garnish!" Erik declared proudly, his smile growing wider at the grunts of approval from Carhillion and Lucatiel.

The Undead chef couldn't help but sneak looks at the knightess of Mirrah as she ate. It was the first time he'd seen her without the silver mask, and he had to admit she was rather pretty. Her skin was almost alabaster smooth and clear, a surprise considering she'd lived a life of a warrior. She had a strong, wide jaw line, giving her a faint masculine look that seemed at odd with her long light blonde hair. That too was also surprisingly well cared for. Erik guessed she allowed herself some feminine vices every once in a while. Lastly, her blue eyes were sharp and focused, but had a distant look to them.

Erik shook his head. It was rude to stare, and he chose to eat his own meal before it went cold.

"I think we should spend a bit of time getting to know each other," Erik suggested as the meal continued, earning some raised eyebrows from his fellow Undead. "Oh come now, don't give me that look! If we're going to be traveling together, we should get to know each other!"

"Well, I don't see why not," Carhillion sighed, fishing a bone out of his teeth before continuing.

"As I have said, I come from Melfia. Specifically, the Melfian Magic Academy, which is something of both a major academic institute but also the seat of political power. High ranked professors, scholars, and masters in the Academy also have political and governmental powers and influence. It is this August Fraternity that makes the rules for not just the school but the entire country," the sorcerer said, a tiny sneer on his lips as he spoke of the distribution of power.

"Great advances in research earns prestige and power. A teacher whose student excels is reward for their pupil's success, while those apprentices who fail or fall behind are cut loose and seen as liabilities. It is a cut throat situation, and most of the issues that plague Melfia stem from inter-department conflicts and rivalry. According to my title, 'of the Fold,' I am technically one of the August Fraternity, and was head of Combat Sorcery for many years. But I was disdainful of the bickering and the way true research and discoveries were suppressed in order to weaken an opponent. So, one day, I planned to leave and come to Drangleic to pursue my own studies away from the nattering old fools."  
"How did you die?" Erik asked, engrossed in the talk. Carhillion laughed bitterly.

"I was murdered by my own apprentice on the way out the door! The little rat had wanted my position for years, and thought he could just snatch it away with my death! Unfortunately, the Dark Sign appeared on me after the dagger pierced my heart. I revived, hunted him and his collaborators down, and then killed them all."

Erik and Lucatiel were silent. That got dark very quickly.

"Lucky for me none of them became Undead as well, so after bidding a few of my other, more faithful, pupils goodbye I left and came to Drangleic. Been here for nearly five years." Carhillion took another bite of the fish and washed it down with some weak wine before continuing. "A year or so after I arrived, one of my apprentices appeared before me. Imagine my shock! Poor Rosabeth… she was never very good with ordinary sorcery, but was a genius with Pyromancy. Such a shame she died. Silly girl blew herself up with a spell. She came to find me, to continue her studies, but I turned her away. She was already far more proficient in the Art of Flames than I, and knew I could not teach her anything. I do hope she has been doing alright. I'd love to see her again…"

"An interesting life you've lived, Mr. Carhillion," Erik said in praise, to which the sorcerer laughed politely.

"Perhaps. And what of you? For a Lindeltian, you're surprisingly tolerant of me and my talents."

"Well, as I said, I am from Lindelt. Specifically, Cathedral City, the capitol. My family, while not a noble or notable one in certain circles, is actually well off. You see, the Potts have been the Personal Chefs to House Osteria for generations. Ever since my ancestor, Donovan Potts, in fact."

Jaws dropped and both the sorcerer and knight stared. Well. That was interesting. Even in the isolated land of Lanafir one couldn't not know of House Osteria. The mightiest clerics in history had been born from that family, and each member was venerated like a living saint, or a direct conduit to the gods. They could perform difficult Miracles with barely a thought, and were rumored to have actual dragon's blood in their veins. In fact, most of House Osteria were very tall, their souls extremely potent. To even look upon one was a blessing to many, and each servant was carefully screened for a year before being allowed to even set foot in the Lightning Palace. To cook for this family meant they had to have perfect skills and unflinching loyalty.

"My father raised me in the kitchens. I never knew my mother for most of my life, as she was not a woman of equal standing to my father, a noble in all but name, and I was born out of wedlock. Still, my expertise in the kitchens was acknowledged early on; I've been handling knives since I was four."

"One day though, about a month ago, I died. I was mugged and then murdered in an alleyway on my way back from the markets with an order of food. I was afraid when I woke. So very afraid." Erik trembled for a moment before he caught ahold of himself. "Undead are pariahs in Lindelt. Worse, even. Public beatings and endless executions until we go Hollow is all we have to look forward to if we get caught. So I ran. I ran home and stole this."

The Undead chef patted the leather tome that rested in his pouch at his side.

"Donovan Potts was a legendary chef. He cooked for the Three Great Kings of Drangleic centuries ago, before all this Curse madness swept the world. He was praised and acknowledged by all, and in this book he detailed incredible recipes. Most of the ingredients can only be found here, and with the rise of the Undead swamping Drangleic, obtaining said ingredients is becoming harder and harder. So here I am. To travel the land and cook the legendary feasts of my ancestor. The Four Divine Meals. The Sacred Soup, Salad, Meat, and Dessert. Such foods use the rarest of rarities, and can supposedly create miraculous effects. So that is my story. A chef with all of his future stolen, only to try and take it back with the help of a simple book. Crazy, huh?"

"You're very brave, young man. Few would have the courage to return to the center of a dangerous city just for a book so they could pursue their own future. I applaud your fortitude." Carhillion did so, a slow but respectful clap echoing in the deepening night.

"…I was born a commoner in Mirrah," Lucatiel said, sharing her story after a hesitant pause. "My family was dirt poor. The land in Mirrah is fallow in many places, and what land isn't is controlled by the nobles and rented out at insane prices. Mining and logging are the only other major industries, besides war. You've probably heard the rumors saying anyone can become a knight or official, as long as they have talent? It's true, but the standards for peasants are much, much higher than for the pre-established aristocracy. To give you perspective, I am the first and only female knight of common birth in all of Mirrah. Some noblewomen become such, but only I broke through their challenges. I cultivated my Poise to insane levels and became an elite. But I wasn't the best. That title belonged to my brother, Aslatiel."

As she spoke, her face became relaxed and she smiled at fond memories.

"Aslatiel was a genius swordsman. He had cultivated 250 Poise, a number never before reached in Mirrah's history, by the age of twenty, and then beat it and reached 300 by twenty three. Aslatiel also was a proficient sorcerer as well. He was approached by the Shadow Knights to join them, and would have joined that secretive order but a war fell on us. The barbarians to the east of Mirrah's borders have always raided by, and three years ago they fell on the outer regions like a tide. Hundreds died in the first hours, and the elites were mobilized, my brother and I included. For days we fought, until my brother killed the enemy commander. But he took a deadly blow, and died soon after."

Lucatiel's hands clenched, and her expression turned grim. "He died. But he did not stay dead. The Dark Sign appeared on him, and he was thrown into a makeshift brig. Such a travesty! My brother, the greatest warrior alive, imprisoned like a worthless criminal! The Shadow Knights are tasked with eliminating Undead, and they are very good at it. Undead go Hollow after a few days of their 'treatments' and then completely exhaust their soul in a week. Complete death to an unkillable target."

Erik and Carhillion shivered at her proclamation. An Undead could die, it was true. But they had to die over and over and over. A hundred times a hundred deaths, or experience equivalent suffering. To be able to do so in a week sounded like a nightmare!

"My brother feared this fate, and struggled free of his bonds. In the dead of night, he took his equipment and ran, but not before doing something impossible." Now, Lucatiel's tone took on reverence, as if she'd seen some great act of the gods. "My brother, by dawn's first light, had slaughtered the entire enemy army. Over three thousand hardened Steppe warriors, cut down by a single man! The invasion ended that very day. But my brother was nowhere to be found. His corpse could not be located among the piles of dead barbarians, and Aslatiel was declared Killed in Action. Rather than reveal to the country that their most famous knight had become an Undead, they instead claimed he had done the massacre without his cursed powers and died in the process. But he was alive! I knew he was! And I received confirmation of it last year, when a merchant claimed to have dropped off a masked knight of Mirrah with a distinct great sword in Drangleic sometime after his 'death.' I desperately wanted to go to my brother, but the Shadow Knights discovered this information as well and planned to use me as bait to lure in Aslatiel. I fought back, and was accidentally killed in the battle, though I took my killer out with me."

Lucatiel absentmindedly traced a finger along the left side of her face, remembering where her killing blow had landed.

"I awoke with the Dark Sign on my breast, and knew I had a chance to atone for letting my brother go to his death, and not even try to help him. I love him! And yet I left him to his fate…" Lucatiel looked away, as if ashamed. No one said anything for a long while, with Erik packing up the cooking supplies and Carhillion moving to examine the sails which were providing light even as the darkness of night fully fell.

For what seemed like hours, an awkward silence settled on the boat, not a single person sure of what to say. They had all bared their hearts, and some had darker stories than others. Where did this leave them now? For Erik, he had omitted several things from his story that he had been afraid to speak of, even in trusted company. The guilt gnawed at him.

For Lucatiel, she had revealed everything. For her past, to her great shame, to her quest for forgiveness. In a way, she was glad she had become Undead. It meant she could atone, and seek a cure alongside her brother. The two of them, fighting impossible odds and yet emerging victorious! Just like old times…

Erik and Lucatiels thoughts were all interrupted by a sudden exuberant shout from Carhillion.

"Land ho!" He cried, cackling a bit. Erik and Lucatiel stared up in shock as the ruined majesty of a gargantuan prison towered up ahead on the cliffs before them.

"Behold, the Lost Bastille! Last stop for Undead of all ages!" Carhillion laughed darkly, and Erik trembled. Something was in that place. Something dark and hungry and burning. And it was calling out for him.


	12. Chapter 12: 3 Golems and Blacksmith

Chapter 12: Three Golems and a Blacksmith

A cold wind blew over the deck sending shivers through the three Undead as the ship trawled ever closer to the massive fortress-like prison. Not helped at all was the festering darkness and madness that wreathed the stones and metal. Tens of thousands of people had died here, in great agony. Their souls had bled into the very foundations, and now an eternal gloom hung over the Gaol.

The Lost Bastille; a haunted place that was infamous for being where the worst of the worst criminals had been incarcerated for untold ages. It was an old structure; it had existed for millennia, and was supposedly from the age of the First Flame. Additions were made, the crumbling ruins were fixed up, and it endured. No matter the shape or owner, the Lost Bastille carried a million times a million sorrows and deaths in it, and no amount of construction or cleaning could remove the stains.

With unearthly care and precision, _Caitha's Chains_ sailed up to the small dock that was built into the side of the cliff below the bastion of torment. From the sails a faint blue light emanated, casting weird and twisted shadows on the walls and water. It only added to the suffocating and eerie presence. In a few minutes the Undead would arrive, and the next leg of the journey would start.

"How did you jump so high?" Erik's question to Carhillion seemed to come from left field. Lucatiel and the sorcerer just stared at the chef, but noticed his trembling. He was trying desperately to distract himself from the overpowering fear, and the elderly man smiled in a grandfatherly way.

"The original spell was that of Fall Control. However, there are ways to use spells, be it a Sorcery, Miracle, or Pyromancy, in many ways beyond their stated purpose. For example, I just reversed the spell formula for Fall Control, and that allowed it to become a whole new spell; Super Jump! I invented it myself," Carhillion said proudly, glad to impart knowledge and sooth Erik's fears.

"Using and learning magic is not a straight forward, linear process. So many of the older practioners have forgotten this. Invention and progress cannot come without experimentation and challenging the norm. Remember; there is always something new to learn. If you have a problem, work at it from a different angle, or try and solve it backwards. If nothing else, keep those words close." Carhillion said kindly. Erik nodded just as the ship bumped up against the docks.

"Well, this is it," Lucatiel said softly, before straightening her shoulders and walking down to the gangplank that slid out noiselessly from the ship. Erik took several nervous deep breathes, before he stepped down towards the wooden platform below.

Once the duo was down, they looked back only to see the ship start to creak and sail away!

"Mr. Carhillion, hurry up! The boat is leaving!" Erik called out, but the old man just shook his head.

"Sorry, but this is where we part. This ship is so fascinating! The spells that drive it are sublime and the work of a master! Ah, if I had a decade I might barely scratch the surface!" He then smiled down at the two Undead he'd come to know and like. "I have enough understanding of the magic to control it myself. I shall sail back to Majula, and await you there. So promise me you will come back in one piece! I still have much I need to teach you!"

Erik frowned, but then laughed a bit. "Of course! Mr. Carhillion, you have my word! Lucatiel and I will return, safe and sound! Though try to go easy on the lectures!"

"I make no promises!" Carhillion chuckled. Lucatiel smiled as well under her mask, and once the ship was far enough out to see, she lightly tapped Erik's shoulder.

"It's time to go," She urged, and though he hesitated, he nodded.

"It is. Let's move," Erik said confidently, and the two Undead strode into the docking area, and boarded another one of the unique moving platforms. This one was made of solid metal and rose much faster and smoother than the one Erik had ridden on to reach the Last Giant. He was fascinated by the machinery, it reminding him of the dumb-waiters House Osteria had in its palace, though larger and automatic.

Once the device clunked to a stop, Erik and Lucatiel emerged in a dark, underground place, lined with countless cells built into the walls. The doors of many of them were bent and torn, or missing all together, where the ones still intact had corpses within. Whether they were of Undead or normal people it was impossible to tell. They were putrid and unrecognizable, and the smell alone was bringing the two travelers to near retching states.

Moving up the long stairs they soon found an odd but welcome sight; a bonfire seemed to be have been placed in one of the open cells, and the two eagerly rested at the flames. After a brief pause they continued upwards and the sudden tang of salty sea air brought a smile to their faces. At long last they escaped the stench of decay and emerged onto a long, crumbling battlement. It was in major disrepair, but what drew their eyes was a white armored knight clutching a spear as they sat on the floor. Erik and Lucatiel tensed, but relaxed slightly when they realized what it was; A Knight of Heide! These white clad warriors had been the high ranked soldiers of the Kingdom of Heide. Clad in fine armor, and clutching weapons infused with lightning, a Heide Knight was a force to be reckoned with. Not nearly as elite as the Dragonriders, but powerful all the same. While that might worry some, these warriors did not move or attack, unless provoked first. They had been defenders, and were renowned for never throwing the first punch, even when Hollowed.

Erik had run into one in the Forest of Fallen Giants but had avoided it completely, unwilling to confront a fearsome fighter while still having to deal with the other Hollowed foes in the area.

Walking by cautiously but respectfully the pair did not disturb it and soon came to a ladder.

Shimmying down it, they were soon attacked by Undead Dogs that leaped and snarled, but before the sword swings of Lucatiel they fell fast. When they all dropped dead a large and burly bandage wrapped man jumped down from a wooden platform, startling the two Undead. It carried a wickedly long and curved polearm while shooting off Combustions from a tattered Pyromancy glove on its right hand. While big and its swings were fast, it eventually perished from the combined efforts from the chef and knightess.

Moving on, they found a treasure chest hidden at the end of an inconspicuous path that held an Estus Flask Shard and a large piece of Titanite! Further along, they came to a lowered gate that had more Undead Dogs guarding both sides. Hacked apart, the two Undead opened it and killed the remaining undead animals.

"I think I'm starting to hate dogs," Lucatiel grumbled, Erik nodding in agreement. At least they sometimes had Human Effigies on them for some reason, locked onto their collars. Lucatiel had snatched them up with an almost desperate speed that surprised Erik. Was she truly that concerned with her looks? Or was it something else?

"Let's… look out!" Erik shouted, throwing himself on top of Lucatiel, knocking her down. She shouted in confusion but was soon glad the chef had done so as a large barrel flew over their heads and slammed into the wall behind them. Looking up, the two Undead glared at an Undead Jailer that was tramping down the stairs, having hurled the wooden container at them.

"Rude!" Erik snarled, dodging under its polearm and giving a hard kick to its back. The Hollow stumbled backwards and turned with a groan. That was all it managed, as Erik quickly conjured a Fireball from his recently acquired scroll and hurled it at the Undead Jailer. The fire splashed over their foe, but the chef's smugness vanished as suddenly there was a tremendous explosion!

Stone chunks went flying and a wave of heat and pressure bowled Erik and Lucatiel over. Ears ringing, they staggered to their feet to see the wall had collapsed, revealing a bonfire! Of the Undead Jailer no trace could be found except for the charred and mangled metal of its weapon and steaming chunks of flesh.

"What just happened?" Erik asked, dazed. Lucatiel turned to him, as if to say something, but nothing came out.

"What?" Erik shouted, confused. Lucatiel shook her head, then walked over and grabbed his shoulders, dragging the cook to the bonfire. As they near, sparks danced out and wrapped around the two Undead. In moments their wounds were gone and the damage to their equipment was also mostly removed.

"What on Drangleic was that?" Erik asked again, his ruptured eardrums mended, and Lucatiel just shrugged.

"I have an idea, but I want you to stay back while I check." The knightess then stood and went to one of the barrels that had been standing here and there. She cracked one open and reached her hand in, removing what looked to Erik a handful of black sand. She nodded, as if this confirmed her suspicions, before walking back to the bonfire and the chef, pausing only to stab the Undead Dogs to keep them down.

"Black powder. The barrel was full of it and I'll bet there's a lot more where that came from," Lucatiel said. Seeing Erik's blank expression, she elaborated.

"A powerful explosive substance, and the main ingredient in Black Fire Bombs. It was originally produced by Forossan alchemists, but the secret has since been lost, or sold to other kingdoms. Mirrah currently has the largest black powder manufacturing base, at least as far as we know. Our lands may be bad for crops, but the minerals needed for this substance are abundant. Black powder makes an excellent weapon. What I don't understand is why it's here. The sheer amount of it means that either Drangleic discovered it first, or Forossa exported most of what they made to this land. Neither option makes me comfortable."

She looked down at Erik, who was still seated at the fire. "Try to avoid throwing around your Pyromancy near any barrels, lest you ignite more of it and cause untold devastation. I don't know how well the Curse of the Undead will protect us from becoming smeared across the walls and floors."

Her scolding tone made Erik want to curl up into a ball, but he just nodded in understanding.

"Good. Now, shall we continue?"

"I want to check something first. I think there is a person in there," Erik said, pointing at the open door near the bonfire. Heavy breathing could be heard from in there, and Lucatiel tensed by curtly nodded in agreement. Better to see if there was a friend or foe in hiding now, then have them become a problem later.

Inside, they were confronted with an old, white haired man, who despite his age was massive and bulging with muscles. A blacksmith's apron covered his front, while he wore threadbare tunic and trousers. He was next to a work bench covered in tools and scraps of equipment while sitting on what looked like a treasure chest and idly swinging his hammer in the air as if trying to strike iron where there was none.

"Meh heh heh… Oh why can't they all be this easy?… Meh heh heh," the blacksmith mumbled, his words infused with dementia. He seemed to be nearly Hollow! When the chef and the knightess' boots crunched onto the gravel he gave a start then looked up and stared at Erik with dull eyes, before snorting.

"Hmph! Hmm! We've got a wild one here! Shape up! Shape up, I say!" Erik took a step back from the man, noting a few other chests set up here and there, while an empty torch sconce stood nearby an anvil as he did so. The crazed man followed Erik's gaze, and laughed.

"Oh-hoh hoh hoh! That's it, yes, that's the way! Dear flame… how brightly you burn! Meh heh heh…"

Unnerved, Erik and his comrade cautiously stepped back out to the bonfire, hearing his final words before he descended into giggles.

"I ought to fetch a new ember… Flame, dear flame…"

"Poor man is nearly gone," Erik said, feeling pity for the old blacksmith. He wondered how Lenigrast was doing.

"At least he did not seem inclined to attack us," Lucatiel said with a hint of relief. She didn't like being around Undead that close to losing it. It reminded her too much about her and Aslatiel's potential fates.

A silent look between the two Undead prompted them to move on. Up the stairs they encountered more Undead Dogs and a single Undead Jailer, all while trying not to disturb the barrels filled with black powder that were just lying around. The knightess started to roll these barrels over the edge of the walls when she could, watching in satisfaction as they splashed into the water or spilled open on the rocks below.

At one point though the explosive substance proved extremely useful though. The two Undead had opened a door that looked to lead deeper into the prison, when at least a half dozen Royal Soldier Hollows armed with great swords rushed out. Only a panicked Fireball had saved the two from a gruesome butchering, the detonation mashing the Hollowed soldiers and only knocking Erik and Lucatiel down with minimal injuries. The blast also opened a hole in the wall they were quick to take advantage of, as it cut through several rooms that were crawling with odd, bandage wrapped Undead prisoners. Similar in appearance to the Jailers, but much worse in terms of combat, as proved when one rushed them and blew itself up. Apparently someone had stuffed their bodies with black powder and faulty Pyromancy gloves. Taking them out with throwing knives before they got to close became standard practice.

Along the way, Erik was thankful for the Orange Soapstone. Though limited to no more than ten words a message, more often than not that was enough. "Enemy/Ambush Ahead!" prevented some very uncomfortable situations, and helpful hints for the weaknesses of certain foes let the chef and his partner eliminate enemies with greater efficiency.

Additionally, Erik would spend some time whenever they had a break thinking on what Carhillion had said about experimentation and progress and magic. All he had was Pyromancy. But that shouldn't limit him. Erik stared at his left hand, concentrating on the Fire Seed that now nestled inside it. He'd gotten somewhat better with controlling it, though the output was fairly wild, and he still burnt things if he gripped them too hard or held them too long in that hand. In spite of that, Erik felt as if he was approaching a breakthrough. He just wasn't sure what it was.

"Fog Gate Ahead," Lucatiel said, reading out the latest message. The knightess had her own set of White and Orange Soapstones, though she admitted they were plundered from the corpse of the Shadow Knight who'd attacked her.

Sure enough, around the corner a mesmerizing vortex of grey stood, waiting. She narrowed her eyes behind her mask and held up her milk colored Soapstone. A white name flickered into existence, and she stroked her chin.

"Erik, there is a Summoning Sign in that doorway near the fog gate. Do you want to try summoning them?"

The chef looked up from his palms, a bit annoyed that Lucatiel had interrupted his introspection. But he got over it. This was an important question.

"May I see?" The native of Mirrah nodded, and Erik pulled out his own Soapstones. "Pilgrim Bellclaire…"

"Heard of her before? Based on her name, I assume she's from Lindelt," Lucatiel said, but Erik shook his head.

"If she was, I've never heard of her. Not to say that it is impossible, of course. A lot of clerics have come and gone over the years. Let me just…" Erik held his hand over the symbol, and a ghostly image appeared, a faded depiction of the woman who had placed her summoning signature. She wore mages robes, but armored gauntlets and boots, while clutching some kind of sorcerer's staff as well as a cleric's chime.

"Huh. She's not just a cleric. Interesting name, then," Erik mused, then shrugged and tapped the glowing white name, summoning her regardless. Help was help, after all. He stepped back, and in moments a radiant white glow flickered to life and Pilgrim Bellclaire appeared. She gave a short bow as she appeared, then stood by.

"Hello, Miss Bellclaire. My name is Erik Potts, of Lindelt, and this is Sir Lucatiel, of Mirrah. Would you care to help us with what is beyond that fog wall?" Erik said, introducing himself with a smile and bow. The woman blinked in surprise, but gave a kind smile and a nod.

"Well then! Let's go!" Erik said, and strode up to the spacial barrier. Instantly he was sucked through, and the chef paled as he saw what awaited him and his companions. The stitched together pirates had been bad enough. Now they had to deal with three whole foes?!

Indeed, there were three enemies waiting for them within, wearing finely crafted bronze armor and wielding a round shield and Lucerne, also made of some sort of bronze colored metal. Erik was fairly certain these things were not human. Ignoring the size, the legs and arms were far too slender too support their weight, and as they began moving towards the three Undead their movements were too smooth for such gangly limbs.

"Scatter! Everyone, attack them one on one!" Erik commanded, and his companions shouted in agreement. Lucatiel dove off the top of the crumbling balcony she was on to impale the nearest armored entity, while Bellclaire lit up her staff and sent Soul Arrows whizzing into the enemy standing by the entrance. That left one for Erik.

He cried out, and jumped off the balcony as well. His possible-golem was ready for this though and held up its shield to block. Erik didn't mind, and clung to the shield as if it were a giant plate. He slapped two Combustions right into its helmet before it dislodged him. By slamming the shield right into a nearby pillar. The old stone shattered under the impact and the chef cried out in pain, dropping to the floor once his grip relaxed. He barely had time to roll aside from an overhead smash from the Lucerne before it struck the ground.

Meanwhile, Lucatiel was weaving in and out, striking at the armored sentinel's legs until it fell to its knees, the metal buckled and rent by her sword strikes. That did not stop the enemy, as it began to hammer about madly with its weapon, trying to keep the knightess at bay. It didn't work. She was a knight of Mirrah, trained to be the best. She had Poise few could match, and talent only exceeded by her brother. She was not afraid of this creatures, and drove in. As the hammer-end came down at her, Lucatiel gently raised her sword to the side. Not to block, though. Instead, she caught the shaft of the Lucerne on the edge of her blade and guided the weapon away from her while also plunging the blade clear through the chest. Diving Falcon Strike! She then ripped her trusty great sword upwards, tearing the helmet off and sending it flying. This revealed the true nature of her foe; an empty suit of armor! Her blow defeated it, and the armor clattered down. She quickly looked around, assessing the situation. Bellclaire seemed fine, dodging the attacks while shoving Sorceries into her assailant, while Erik looked to be doing naught but running in circles around the armored golem, blasting it with fire and swiping it with his dagger. She made a beeline for Erik. He needed help more than the summoned phantom.

"Damn it, why won't you die?!" Erik hissed, completely annoyed. The armor of this creature was strong, his puny steel dagger barely scratching it, while his Pyromancies were just about capable of scorching the metal, but little else. When this debacle was over, he would invest in a sword, or some other kind of weapon!

As he drew up his last Combustion, something felt odd. For a moment, Erik was acutely aware of the heat in the room. He saw Lucatiel out of the corner of his eyes, a pulsing red and orange aura overlapping her, while Bellclaire was coated in a faint yellow sheen. The ruined sentinels, though? No more heat than the surrounding stone. No, that wasn't true. There was some, nestled in the metal. It felt distant though, as if it wasn't real heat, but a memory of it. Frowning, Erik dismissed his Combustion, reached out to place his left hand on the right leg of the monster, and pulled. He reached into the metal and grasped the heat he'd sensed, before yanking at it and dragging it to the fore.

Instantly there was a hollow popping sound, and the armored legging collapsed, severed from the rest of the body. Or rather, melted! The area where Erik's hand had rested now glowed cherry red and practically oozed heat, the edges around the two separate parts super-heated as if it had just emerged from the forge, or was subjected to a blast of ravening flames. The armored sentinel lurched, and it crashed onto its side, flailing wildly. Erik's hand shot out again and impacted the helmet before him. The chef grinned. If he could do that trick again…

His smile faltered as he couldn't seem to repeat what had just happened. He grunted and tightened his fingers on the helm, but the heat he'd sensed from before was gone! The guardian, perhaps realizing that it had been disabled by a one-hit-wonder, lashed out without fear of retaliation. Erik flinched, and was sent flying into the wall. He felt a rib crack under the blow, and gasped in pain. Thankfully he had a knight of Mirrah to avenge him, and Lucatiel's sword rammed through the golem's helmet, causing it to fall limp. Souls rushed into him, and Erik sighed.

"Thanks, Lucatiel, you saved me," he said gratefully. The knightess shrugged.

"Not a problem. Now, should we back up Bellclaire?"

Erik glanced over and saw the armored sentinel sink to its knees before a large bolt of magic tore its head off, and souls gushed out like a spray of white arterial fluid.

"Nah, I think she's fine." Indeed, the self-proclaimed pilgrim seemed fine with nary a scratched, and she waved farewell as her magic faded and she vanished.

"Why do they vanish like that when the fighting is done?" Erik wondered, fishing out his Estus Flask.

"The fog gates are made of some sort of magic that isolates time and space. When they are dispelled, the ripple effect that is caused destabilizes the summoning ritual," Lucatiel explained, getting a raised eyebrow from the cook.

"I was bored on the ship and Carhillion was nearby, ok?" The knightess stated, as if trying to assure Erik she was not, in fact, a huge nerd. He just smiled and nodded, giving her a wink.

"Well, that was fun, but we should…" He didn't get to finish as a gold and iron colored soul appeared before him, and it sunk into his chest without warning.

A younger version of the blacksmith from the bonfire earlier appeared in Erik's mind. The blacksmith stepped back and gave an approving nod to three bronze suits of armor.

"Hear my words, and obey," the smith intoned, cutting his finger with a knife as he dabbed the insides of the armor with his blood, drawing esoteric and arcane sigils.

"First command, serve the King and his officials in all they demand. Second command, all who attack you are foes to be slain. Third command, patrol the Lost Bastille, and keep it safe. Fourth command, no prisoner is to escape. Fifth command with primal over-write authority, ensure the Old Witch never escapes her imprisonment."

His words spoken and the symbols drawn in each, the younger form of the blacksmith moved over to a section of the wall where three massive cages hung. Inside was a terrible sight. Twenty people were trapped within each, stripped naked and bound. They seemed human, and at the very least untouched by the Curse. They hollered and pleaded, shaking the bars and weeping in terror. A pained expression crossed his face, and he shivered, before walking over to a lever.

"I am sorry," he muttered, before pulling the lever. Screams echoed from the cage as spikes jutted up from above and below, killing the inhabitants instantly. White trickles of souls poured out from the victims into the bodies of the golems, where they sunk into the blood runes and caused them to glow white and red.

"McDuff, is the latest batch of Ruin Sentinels complete?"

"Aye, Duke Aldia, they are. Ready to be shipped off to the Lost Bastille," the blacksmith, McDuff, said, turning to face a regular sized man in rich clothes. Erik instantly recognized him as the person who'd stood beside King Vendrik when the Flexile Sentry was made! This was the Soul King's brother!

"Excellent. The Ivory King is placing great trust and faith in us to keep that vile heretic safe and secured until he can figure out how to undo what she did," the duke said softly. His voice was calm and measured, and he barely spared the bloody cages a second glance.

"My lord, may I ask… why the golems? We've never bothered with such things before, even during the Giant's Invasion we kept our hands clean of such practices. Why now?"

"It is not your place to question, Steady Hands McDuff, only to do as ordered," Aldia said, turning piercing gold eyes onto the blacksmith.

"I understand, it's just… wrong. Using people like this…" McDuff's voice faded, and the duke shook his head in disappointment.

"They were criminals and heretics. Death for such a noble goal is only right and proper. Now, here are you new orders; you are to go to the Lost Bastille and perform maintenance there."

"That's the same as banishment!" McDuff roared, and Aldia laughed.

"Be glad we still need your unique talents and skills, Steady Hands, or else we might have been inclined to lock you up as an actual prisoner. Or kill you. Don't think my brother and I don't know what you've been doing, sending information to the Iron King, selling secrets of the craft," the duke whispered, leaning close.

"He has my family!" The blacksmith protested. Aldia just shrugged.

"Not our problem. Now… Ruin Sentinels! Escort this man to the Lost Bastille!" With a jerk, the suits of armor sprang to life, and two grabbed the shoulders of McDuff, steering him out of the room. He did not resist, and let his shoulders slump in defeat.

Chuckling to himself, the duke walked over to the dripping gore of the cages, leaned in, licked his lips, and unhinged his jaw…

Erik spasmed as the vision faded, and Lucatiel leaned back to avoid being hit by his flailing limbs.

"Are you alright? That large soul entered you, and then you blanked out for a moment," the knightess said in concern.

"It's nothing, just a bit overwhelmed is all," Erik lied. Lucatiel folded her arms.

"That's what you said after the double pirate was slain and a similar soul fused with you. What's really going on?"

Erik opened his mouth to lie or protest of wave it off, but then closed it and sighed.

"Sorry Lucatiel, I just wasn't sure what happened myself. Still don't. Truthfully, ever since the Dragonrider, whenever I absorb one of those big souls I get glimpses of… something. Memories perhaps, or a view of the past itself. But I've seen things. How the fog master's died, perhaps, before the Dark Sign branded them. Or perhaps what happened to create them? Just now I saw that blacksmith from before in my visions. He made these things, Lucatiel. He made them with blood and souls." Erik trembled, remembering the screams.

"And he was ordered to do so by King Vendrik and Duke Aldia. I don't know why, either. I also saw Aldia in the Flexile Sentry's, that is the double-Hollow's, memories, and he was the one who made them that way."

Lucatiel blanched under her mask and shivered as well. That had been an abomination, and someone had actually wanted to make it? That was sick!

"Don't worry, Erik, I'm here for you," the knightess said kindly, patting his shoulder before helping him up. "Shall we continue onwards?"

"Yes, let's," Erik said eagerly. As they walked out, Lucatiel turned to the chef.

"So, what was that thing with the Sentinel's leg back there? It looked like you melted it."

"I'm not sure about that either. I was just able to sense the heat around me, as well as what I think was the 'memory' of heat that lay in the metal. I pulled at it with my Pyromancy, and the next thing I know I somehow made the armor 'remember' when it was hot and molten. At least, that's what it felt like," Erik said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Interesting. Just remember what I said; no fire around the barrels. I rather like being in one piece thank you very much!"

Erik laughed at that, but trailed off as he saw Lucatiel was not making a joke, and had an aura to her that informed the chef she might stab him if he messed up. Assuming he didn't go 'splat!' first.


	13. Chapter 13: Lamentations of Old Witches

_**Chapter 13: Lamentations of Old Witches**_

"This place is a damned maze," Lucatiel grumbled, decapitating a charging exploding Hollow before it reached the duo as they walked through the Lost Bastille. Erik nodded in agreement. The entire complex was huge, built to be the size of a large town, if not an entire city. Most of it was rubble and in poor condition, and what wasn't brimmed with Hollows. At the moment Erik was just following his gut, or perhaps it was his soul. A painful tingle had been passing through his flesh as time went on, trying to direct him towards something. And if past experiences told him anything, it was likely an overpowered monster he'd be lucky to defeat, even with Lucatiel.

At the same time, Erik was working hard to discover more of that fire and heat manipulation he had displayed back in the Ruin Sentinel fight. At the moment, if he focused on generating a flame from his Fire Seed, the chef could momentarily feel the temperatures around him briefly. Other than that, Erik could bend and move external fires around a bit, but not much else. Still, it was progress!

"Where to now?" Erik asked, looking about the area. They'd come to a gatehouse of sorts, where across from them a lone tower sat, accessible via a bridge, but guarded by a number of Hollow crossbowmen. A staircase led up to the right, and a faint orange glow could be seen coming from the top. A bonfire, most likely.

Up the stairs first. There's a bonfire up there and I'd like to refill our Estus before moving on," Lucatiel suggested, and Erik nodded in agreement. As soon as they ascended though, the Undead regretted it immediately. Five exploding Hollows were waiting for them, and they charged the travelers with a roar of demented glee.

"Son of a!" Lucatiel swore, backpedaling, while Erik called up a Fireball and chucked it at the foremost Hollow. The chef grabbed his companion and threw themselves down the stairs, hearing the loud crumps and bangs of detonating black powder filled Hollows. As the smoke settled and cleared, The two rose back up, nursing aches and pains but no severe injuries caused by throwing themselves down a flight of steps.

"I hate them. I really, really hate them," Lucatiel snarled, kicking the tattered remnants of a partially singed Hollow's waistcloth.

"Agreed. Now, let's grab ourselves some Estus," Erik said eagerly, and they walked up only to once more find despair instead of hope.

"Argh!" Lucatiel howled, smacking the iron bars with her fist. There was indeed a bonfire, nestled in a prison cell at the back of the upstairs room. However, the way to it was blocked by both the cell's bars, and the doorway being barred by a hideously lifelike statue of a sorcerer. No matter how they pushed, pulled, or smacked it the statuary refused to budge. The metal composing the bars was also unbreakable, and Erik tried to use his heat manipulation again but to no avail.

In the end, they had to settle for Erik tying their Estus Flasks to the Handmaiden's ladle and pushing it through the bars to get close enough for the bonfire to react to the emerald glass and refill them with precious liquid flames.

"That was a bust," Erik grumbled. "Who even puts up statues like that in front of important locations?"

"I don't think it is a statue, but perhaps an actual person," Lucatiel mused. She continued at Erik's look. "Ever heard of Basilisks? They're a plague and a menace in both Jugo and Mirrah. They have this accursed gas they spew that turns people to stone if they're exposed to too much, otherwise it just makes you violently ill. A petrified person is extremely fragile, and can shatter with but a touch. But supposedly if a sorcerer or powerful mage is exposed, they harden to a near indestructible form."

"Why then leave him here?"

"Perhaps he was a dangerous prisoner," Lucatiel suggested with a shrug. "Maybe it was cheaper and safer to petrify criminal mages. I don't know. But I do know is that he is blocking a bonfire, and that has made me less than charitable. Let's move on."

With a sigh, Erik nodded and passed back the knightess' Estus Flask while pocketing his own.

"We need to go across the bridge. Something tells me we need to do so," Erik said, and Lucatiel nodded. So far, Erik's gut hadn't been wrong yet. Yet at the same time, the swordswoman of Mirrah felt distinctly uneasy as she looked to their destination. Ever since the two had arrived at the Lost Bastille, a palpable miasma of darkness had darkened the sky. There was no sun, only a dim reflection of it through the unnatural magical clouds. And this mist of gloom seemed to be originating from somewhere in the direction Erik wanted to go. Lucatiel wasn't happy about confronting the source. But what other choice did she have?

The two dashed across the bridge with quick move, their heads protected from the rain of crossbow bolts by their shields. Erik with his Iron Parma, and Lucatiel with her knight issued shield of Mirrah. He hadn't actually seen her use it before, the knightess having been content to store it on her back, under her coat. It was certainly much better looking than his own, with delicate whorls carved into the shield's rim, while it had a faint goldish sheen to it when it caught the firelight. It was also able to deflect the bolts with ease, much more so than Erik's. By the time the two had cannonballed into the watch tower, at least five bolts had lodged themselves deep in the metal of his Iron Parma. It was almost useless, now. Erik grumbled at that. A thousand souls, down the drain! He really needed something better to counter projectiles.

His mood brightened when the Undead reached the top, and found a bonfire blazing away merrily. They took a well-deserved rest after taking out the Hollowed crossbowmen, tossing their remains over the edge into the water. Hopefully that would slow them down from crawling back up.

Down the staircase at the back of the tower's exterior, they then ran into a big, wooden moving platform. Once the Hollows were dispatched and tossed away, they had themselves a nerve wracking trip down, the old, warped wood of their transport creaking and groaning as it moved, both chef and knightess praying it would hold together a bit longer. When it finally touched down the two sighed in relief then shivered in the sudden cold. Ahead of them stairs led down into icy water, the floor submerged waist deep.

"Has it flooded perhaps?" Lucatiel asked. Erik shook his head.

"If the wardens of this place petrify sorcerers to keep them contained, then maybe they purposely filled it with water and locked up clerics and pyromancers down here. Miracles primarily generate lightning, and water would conduct it and fry the offender. And for pyromancers, well, I'm just standing here and the cold and the wet is sapping my Fire Seed's strength. I doubt anyone could produce more than a spark down here," Erik mused. Indeed, he could feel his left hand grow numb with cold as his Fire Seed seemed to retract a bit, as if hiding from its mortal enemy.

"Let's move them. I can see a gate up ahead. It should lead outside," Lucatiel pointed out, and the chef agreed instantly. They hurriedly descended into the water, only to backpedal as three hideously misshapen aberrations lumbered and splashed through the water. They looked as if someone had inflated a human and added some spines and extra bones and limbs! Crashing towards them, Erik and Lucatiel barely registered that they'd fallen back to the mobile platform and activated it. With wide eyes, they watched as the abominations tumbled down into the shaft below them, where the platform had rested mere moments before.

"…You have the Gods' luck," Lucatiel finally managed to say, as they rode back down to the watery chamber and souls flew up to them.

"It's starting to look that way," Erik admitted. Now, without those monsters waiting for them, the slog through the water was safer. Even though they ran into some more exploding Hollows, the water had soaked their black powder and rendered them utterly helpless. Their expression of bewilderment when they tossed themselves in front of Erik and Lucatiel was absolutely comical, before the swordswoman took their heads off their shoulders.

Something interesting that the two found was a hidden chamber containing a magical ring, a Northern Ritual Band, and another silk pouch with a tiny vial of pale white powder. Erik took both, stuffing them into his pouch for safekeeping. He'd have to ask Shalquoir or the Emerald Herald what the stuff was when he saw them next.

At the end of the waterlogged chamber was indeed a gate, as well as two doors that led outside, to another building. This one was even further away from the Lost Bastille proper, located on a tiny island all of its own. The structure looked like a large fortress rather than a prison, so whoever was in there had to be either extremely dangerous or important, likely both.

Travelling down the path to looming building, Erik felt his pulse racing, as if whoever or whatever was here was what he needed to find. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he stared pointedly at the fog gate that swirled before them.

"Ready for battle?" Lucatiel asked, readying her sword. Erik gulped, but raised his dagger and left hand, sparks dancing about.

"Yes."

The portal drew them in, the water clinging to their clothes evaporating as they passed through.

"Bu-bump!"

A sudden red haze settled over Erik's sight, as blood started to pound in his ears, his pulse raced, and his soul seemed to scream out in fear.

"Bu-bump!"

A heartbeat, loud and deafening, filled the circular darkened room as a hunched woman staggered in, clad in ratty robes with an iron mask trapping her head and a pair of solid metal manacles keeping her hands bound. In spite of that, she still managed to clutch a long, rusted, claymore-like sword in one hand, holding it as if it was as light as a wooden stick. Even bent over, she was tall, about eight feet tall, and her full height might put her around nine. Heat oozed off of her, a thick and oppressive feeling.

"Bu-bump!" One last throbbing pulse echoed through the area, and Erik glimpsed a tiny centipede-like bug crawl out of the mask's left eye socket and seem to stare long and hard at Erik, before it hissed and slipped back inside. The blood-mist faded from his eyes, and he found he could move again, and not a moment too soon!

"Raaargh!" With a roar of blood lust, the woman lunged at the two intruders desperate to kill them. Her leap was unnaturally long and high, more so than they had thought she could manage.

Diving to either side, Erik and Lucatiel split up, ready to try and tag team her like they'd done with the Flexile Sentry. Two on one was a valid tactic, after all. As Lucatiel neared, she swung down with an overhead chop. Her blade was caught by the claymore, but she just smirked under her mask. Now her back was wide open! Erik saw the opportunity and dashed in with his dagger, poised to strike…

In a flash, the old woman's left foot lashed out and struck the chef in his stomach, before exploding in a burst of fire that sent him rocketing backwards into the wall.

"Erik!" Lucatiel cried out, seeing her comrade and friend laid low in a single blow! While the knightess was distracted the prisoner twisted her sword out of Lucatiel's block and slashed at her, forcing the swordswoman to step away and dodge.

At the wall Erik coughed and staggered to his feet, feeling his flesh blacken and crack. His shirt was burned badly, and his chest was not much better off. He took a swig of Estus, and sighed in relief as the wound on his body healed.

"OK, whoever she is, she's obviously a master pyromancer," Erik grunted, shrugging off his backpack. It would only slow him down. He watched as the ragged prisoner cast bursts of flames at Lucatiel while coordinating her sword to catch the knightess off guard. Uniquely the flames came from both her swordless left hand, and her feet! He'd never seen or even heard of anyone using anything but their hands to cast Pyromancy!

Grimacing, the cook called up a Fireball of his own, and tossed it at the old woman, hoping to distract her from Lucatiel, who already had several wounds on her body, thin cuts dribbling blackish blood. It worked, but not in the way he'd hoped. The prisoner pivoted on one foot, shoving Lucatiel away and then _catching_ the Fireball in her left hand, dispelling it to smoke!

Erik stared, jaw practically on the floor. He soon had more to worry about though as the iron masked prisoner hurled herself at him, her claymore opening a painful wound on his stomach. The chef felt something nibble at him, as if the metal of the sword was trying to suck the life out of him. Erik leaned back in time to avoid complete disembowelment however, and managed to stab his dagger into her right arm. She hissed and responded with a Great Combustion that blasted Erik aside. Before the woman could stab him though, Lucatiel leaped back into the battle, slicing a deep wound across her back.

What spilled out was not blood, however. Or, maybe it had been at one time, but now it was thick and glowing and practically on fire. The flaming ichor hissed where it landed and Lucatiel swore, flicking her sword around to get the offending substance off. Of course, that proved to be a mistake as She was run through with the claymore while distracted.

"Lucatiel!" Erik shouted, but the knightess was stronger than that. As both a knight and an Undead, she could survive wounds that would incapacitate or kill lesser folk. She slashed at the old woman while still impaled, trying to take her foes head off, but the ragged prisoner just jumped aside.

"Any ideas?" She asked, wincing at the hole in her stomach. Erik tossed her a Lifegem before replying, keeping a wary eye on their powerful enemy.

"We need to slow her down. Try going for her legs," Erik said. "I'm going to try and counter her flames when she uses them. If she can dispel my pyromancies, why can't I do the same to her?"

Unspoken was the fact that she was likely much more skilled than he in the art of flames, and both Undead knew it. But it was worth a shot. They had nothing to lose, except their lives.

Death was not something to truly fear for an Undead. Going Hollow was the true terror. But too many deaths ate away at the mind and body, hastening the chance of becoming lost in insanity and despair. That was why every fight for an Undead was treated as if it was a true life-or-death scenario. Failure and dying meant little at first, but it quickly built up and grew into a major threat.

Erik and Lucatiel shared a nod before darting forward, hoping to catch the prisoner off guard. It didn't, and she launched a torrent of searing flames into their faces as retaliation. Erik raised his left hand and reached out with his Fire Seed to the oncoming pyromancy. He could feel the oncoming attack and see it as a glow of magical force, not just mere flames, and knew just how much more powerful she was. She had to have at least five other Fire Seeds inside her to be able to generate such overwhelming magical power!

But he pushed on, straining. For a moment, he felt as if his surroundings dropped in temperature, despite the fire surging forth at him. The Pyromancy weakened just a tad, and Erik pushed back and for a moment he held it at bay, which was enough to surprise and distract the caster. Seizing the opportunity, Lucatiel pirouetted away from the fire and brought her sword down to the calf of her opponent's right leg. The pyromancer noticed and evaded the blow, but not before a thick chuck was carved out, burning gore splashing to the stone floor.

The old woman hissed and growled as her own steaming fluids cauterized the wound. Erik panted, covered in sweat. His left hand felt hot, as if it might melt, and yet the rest of his body was wracked with cold chills.

When he had struggled against the woman's Pyromancy, he'd felt something click in his mind. Instead of pushing back with his own fire-based powers, Erik had begun to move the fire away, dispersing it and cooling it rather than trying to actually match flames with his opponent. It had worked well, and Erik could sense there was a breakthrough close at hand. Carhillion's parting advice filled his mind.

'If you have a problem, work at it from a different angle, or try and solve it backwards.'

Erik blinked. That was it!

"Lucatiel! Try and drive her over to me, I have a plan!" Erik shouted, and the knightess just nodded in acknowledgement. With measured strides, the masked swordswoman clashed blades with the imprisoned pyromancer, forcing her to take steps back. It had taken a while, but the knightess had finally figured out her opponent's pace and technique.

Whoever she was, she was strong. Lucatiel freely admitted this. But she was clumsy with the sword, her power all stemming from her overwhelming physical strength. With her hands bound as well, the prisoner had even less freedom of movement to use her claymore, which meant she had to swing her arms more widely and that made her have exaggerated movements, which while fast were easy to read. Lucatiel had analyzed her foe and had a grasp of her talent. Now, she could go on the offensive, pushing back and herding the insane iron masked pyromancer towards the chef.

Lucatiel trusted Erik. If he said he had a plan, then he had one.

As the pair of dueling women got closer, Erik made his move. Shouting loudly to get the old prisoner's attention, He ran at her, dagger raised high. Lucatiel was confused, as it seemed as if Erik had gone mad. The Lost Sinner saw this as well, and spun around contemptuously, stabbing her blade clean through his chest.

To both women's surprise though, the chef just laughed as if he'd expected this. Then, he reached out and grabbed the old pyromancer's wrists. A tingle ran up her arms, and she started to twist, trying to break free. Yet Erik clung on, and summoned up his Fire Seed's strength. Only, this time, he did not call out its flames. Instead, he recalled them, sucking in the heat from the arms of his foe and pushing in the cold that lingered around him to where the warmth had once resided.

A pained and fearful scream ripped her way through the demented hag's lips, and she tried even harder to escape. There, before everyone's eyes, was a layer of ice and frost creeping up her arms and heading towards the rest of her body. She flailed around, panicking, trying to get Erik off of her, but the chef held on even as he was rammed into the walls. Lucatiel snapped out of her daze, and she tackled the Lost Sinner, trying to hold her still while Erik did his work. More and more ice popped and crackled to life, crawling inexorably up the pyromancer. Soon, only her head and feet remained free of the frozen prison she found herself in. A thin screech came from her left eye socket, and a tiny, mutated worm tried to escape but the ice snagged it, binding it in a cold embrace. Though it was cold, Lucatiel hung on, just in case her captive struggled some more, and was silently glad the ice seemed to avoid her.

Erik finally released the old woman, arms flopping to his sides as he gasped and panted. The pain in his chest that he'd been ignoring flooded back, and he almost cried out. Sweat stained his entire body as well, making him feel wet and cold thanks to the wafts of icy air coming from his impromptu ice sculpture.

Without warning there was a cracking sound and Erik collapsed to the floor, long sword still using him as a sheath. However, the Lost Sinner's hands still were holding on the weapon, they just weren't attached to her body. The ice had not just covered the woman, it had penetrated and fused with her to the bone, making her flesh and blood as close to pure ice as possible. Now cracks started to appear and the chain reaction started from her snapped arms and spread to the rest of her. Soon, the Lost Sinner collapsed into a shattered pile of frozen meat chunks.

Souls rushed forth from her remains, and Erik sighed in relief, then winced as Lucatiel pulled the Lost Sinner's sword from his chest. The knightess examined the blade before grunting in appreciation, and tied the much long blade to her back.

"Can never have enough weapons or options," Lucatiel said when he looked at her in bemusement. Their banter stopped dead through as this time, two massive souls appeared before Erik.

One was gold, yellow, and red, and looked like a miniature bonfire had somehow manifested. The other had the same colors and style but was bigger, rounder, and throbbed with black veins as it beat almost like a heart. Erik tensed and prepared for the influx of sights he'd soon see. He wasn't proved wrong, or kept waiting long.

A young woman in strange white priestess robes stared with longing at an extremely tall man clad in purest white armor, wearing a majestic crown of silver and ivory with a glowing golden gem set in the middle. It was the legendary Ivory King of Eleum Loyce, his face handsome enough to make any woman swoon. She watched as the Ivory King doted on a frail looking woman dressed in white and grey robes with a black veil over her head and face, who seemed to be naught but Fear wrapped in flesh. But her kindness was radiant, and even though the lesser priestess was jealous, she loved her mentor like a sister and mother.

The scene shifts, and Erik can see a terrible fire boiling away in the center of the earth. Lava oozes and flows like water, and before it stands the young woman, now in much more ornate garb, and with a glass eye in her left socket. She was arguing with the Ivory King and the Lady of Fear. He could not hear them, for the sound of fire was too much. Only faint snippets audible.

"Too dangerous… folly…" "Only chance… let me help!" "Chaos… contain… cannot control…"

The scene shifted again, showing the woman alone this time, screaming as her skin is alive with writhing, crawling flames. The glass eyes has fallen out and in the emptiness a tiny worm burrows, whispering promises of success and love to the desperate priestess.

Now, the priestess kneels in chains, shackled and wearing a black iron mask to seal the Worm of Chaos. She is before a furious Ivory King, who shouts and screams terrible oaths at her. He commands a pair of white armored knights to take her away. As she begged and pleaded for mercy, claiming it was all for him, that she loved him, the Ivory King barked an angry laugh.

"Love? You dare to say you love me after what you did? Your selfishness and jealousy has doomed us, and now I go to hold back the Chaos so it does not consume the world." He turned away, flanked by dozens of knights. "I may have loved you once as well, but no more. Get out of my sight!"

At those words, the woman sank to her knees and cried, the last thing she sees being the petite woman of Fear standing at the king's back with a look of profound sadness. All the while, the Worm whispers lies into her head and laughing all the way to the Lost Bastille…

Erik twitched, but the visions weren't done yet! He saw everything in his mind shift violently, and soon he was standing in the presence of a woman.

To put it simply, she was beautiful. No mortal woman could possibly match her, for hers was an unearthly radiance. Hot as fire and just as dangerous! Hair as black and smooth and elegant as ebony cascaded down her shoulders, and ruby red lips locked themselves in a sensual smile. Most alluring were her eyes; one was a rich brown with a black pupil, the other was a royal purple with a sapphire blue center.

He saw her kneel before a bright flame that was at once limitless in scope and size, but also terribly fragile and small. She reached in and removed an ember from within that glowed purest white. It melded with her and she rose, flames literally dancing in her eyes.

The next Erik saw of her, she wore black and gold robes that accented her curvy figure while holding a staff made of strange wood. She was tall as well, and loomed over seven smaller and younger women. All held similar staffs, and they conjured up vast firestorms that swept across a grey landscape, barren of life save for mountainous Arch-trees and stone scaled Ancient Dragons. She cast them down, and made her name known to all; Beware of the Queen of Fire and Life! All hail the Witch of Izalith!

The scene shifted again, and now he saw the beautiful witch arguing with two other figures. One was a bearded man, taller than her and crowned with lightning and sunlight. The other was a mass of bones and putrid grave soil, held together by a mind and soul made of death itself. They spoke in a booming, ancient tongue, but the meanings were someone made clear to Erik. These three were fighting over what to do with the First Flame! The Dead One was apathetic. All perished, so why not the Flame and Life and Light?

The King of Light shook his head, saying there was a need to preserve the First Flame, but the risks of trying to create a new one were too high. The dangers of accidentally snuffing it out were all too real.

The Witch of Izalith protested that her research was sound! The Fire Keepers had already proven to be a successful experiment, and with an entire Lord Soul a Second Flame would rise and continue the Age of Gods! In the end though no consensus was reached, and the three split.

Now, the Witch was alone, watching as her kingdom sunk into lava that bubbled up from the earth. Her beautiful body was gone, wracked and twisted and mutating into a monstrous form. Demons cavorted in the death of her domain, born from her own people as they were touched by what she had wrought; Chaos, a new Element, beyond the Light and Dark and the Life and Death granted by the First Flame. The Witch wept as she saw her own children become abominations, insect-like and mad, punished for their mother's sin. She cried and cried, even as her eyes turned to ash and her throat melted away and all that was left was a Worm that waited to be reborn…

Erik suddenly screamed, his body wrapped in a cloak of pure white flames! Lucatiel cried out in shock and tried to approach but was driven back by the pressure of the heat. The fire faded as soon as it appeared, and the knightess took the chance to try and help the Undead chef.

"Erik, are you alright?!" What happened, what did you see?" Lucatiel cried, getting her friend into a sitting position.

"It was… bad… I saw the birth of Chaos, and the one who did it," Erik said, heart still pounding. Lucatiel's jaw dropped behind her mask, and she could only guess at what he'd seen. Chaos was well known to anyone. You did not have to be religious to have heard of what it was or did. Most stories varied widely, but some common points were there; Chaos was unnatural, and those it tainted became Demons. Wielders of Chaos could control a twisted and evil form of Pyromancy, and supposedly buried somewhere in Drangleic was a gateway to its realm. But to actually see it…

"Anything else?" Lucatiel queried. Erik nodded, wincing as he did so. He felt sore all over, and downed a mouthful of Estus before continuing.

"I saw who that old woman was… she was priestess of Eleum Loyce, and I think she tried to do something with the Chaos that was hidden beneath the kingdom."

"You're saying the source of all Chaos is sitting beneath us as we speak?" Lucatiel asked, pale. The chef shook his head.

"Sort of? It looks like it is mainly in the north, and that the Ivory King did something to contain it. It wasn't very clear." He stood up, brushing ash and frost off himself. He also decided to keep the secret of the mysterious Witch a secret for now. But for some reason he felt as if he'd met her before. "We should move on. I feel something in the back of this place."

The knightess only bobbed her head, eyes wordlessly fixated on Erik. Or rather, his now bare midriff. The Pyromancy from earlier had burned his shirt open, giving the swordswoman a good look at the chef's surprisingly toned upper body. He was not nearly as buff as a knight, or even a farmer, but he had a muscle tone that complimented his handsome face.

Lucatiel blushed and shook her head. Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! He's just a friend!

"You OK, Lucatiel?" Erik asked, picking up his backpack and putting it on again. She just nodded and walked to his side, yet again glad her mask covered her face. Erik shrugged and headed out, the knightess trailing behind.

The two made their way deeper into the prison, coming across a chest that contained nothing but a single fat branch of wood. It was either a joke, or something more valuable than it appeared. Erik didn't care either way. It had a soft fragrant aroma too it, and he felt it would make good charcoal for cooking.

Heading in further, there was nothing else in the area except a solitary bonfire. It had a different feel to it though, as if it was older and more potent. Approaching it, the flames from it lashed out, wrapping around the two Undead and pulling them close! The tongues of flame did not burn or hurt, but they were held fast none the less!

With cries of fear on their lips, they shut their eyes as the bonfire exploded into a pillar of primal flames.

They kept screaming and felt themselves thrown to the floor suddenly. In panic the chef and knightess scrambled to their feet, ready for anything!

"Oh me, oh my! Look what the cat dragged in! I see you've discovered a Primal Bonfire. They certainly take some getting used to." A cheerful and familiar voice greeted them, but the Undead were too stunned to make much note of it.

Somehow, the bonfire in the prison had sucked them in and spat them out at the bonfire in Majula, with the sun in its position for early morning.

And there was Shalquoir and the Emerald Herald, as well as all the other Undead of Majula, looking at the two travelers like they were crazy.

"Wha, buh, how..." Erik stammered. The immortal cat laughed airily and sauntered over to them.

"Oh my friend, it seems you still have much to learn about Drangleic…"


	14. Chapter 14: Meet the Neighbors 2

_**Chapter 14: Meet the Neighbors Part 2, Lightning Boogaloo!**_

"So what you're saying is that we can teleport through the bonfires, moving from one to the other with just a thought?" Erik asked, trying to process this information. Shalquoir purred happily as Lucatiel pet her, which left the Emerald Herald to explain.

"Yes, but only to ones you've visited. You have to visualize the destination, and then the bonfire will move you, much in the same way as what happens when an Undead dies and they are warped back to one," Shanalotte said. She and Erik were sitting next to each other on some of the flat stones surrounding Majula's bonfire, and the Fire Keeper was glad she was not directly across from the young chef. She did not want to have a face full of naked chest and fine abs distracting her as she tried to explain very complicated mechanics in a very dumbed down way.

Not that she was attracted or anything! It had just been a long time a young, moderately handsome man had been half naked around her. Or nice. Shanalotte violently shook her head to clear away those treacherous thoughts.

Erik scratched the back of his neck, struggling to wrap his mind around the bonfire mechanics and blissfully unaware of what was going on in the Emerald Herald's mind.

"Sort of like a White Soapstone summoning?"

"In a way, but the Soapstones are a form of astral projection while the bonfire is a physical transfer of matter through the bending of space and manipulation of Dark Matter and pure Humanity," Shanalotte explained. "Furthermore, because one needs to have a cognizant mind and clear thoughts, a Hollow cannot use a bonfire to move around. Even if the bonfire didn't repel them for lacking Humanity. It's the reason they become safe havens even in fairly wild areas."

"Alright, I can sort of get that, in a sense. What can you tell me about this?" Erik asked, removing a two silk pouches full of tiny vials. Shanalotte gasped, and even Shalquoir took an interest in them.

"That… that is an extremely rare item; Sublime Bone Dust! Long ago, a man tried to understand the soul in a variety of ways. In the end, he felt the only way was to cast himself into the First Flame and return to the source of all life. He was reduced to ash and soot and dust." Reverently, the Emerald Herald picked up one of the vials, examining it. There was a strange look in her eyes that made her seem distant. "His bones were all that remained, and even then they were turned to fine white dust. It was gathered and preserved as holy relics."

"Bones are a conduit of the soul, far more so than flesh or stone or wood, for they have been saturated in the life that once was, and are a direct link to the afterlife. Only gems come close to matching this potency, and that is due to the fact they have undergone intense pressures to emerge pure. As for this Sublime Bone Dust, you can sprinkle it into the bonfire here, and bolster its power. When an Undead extracts Estus from a bonfire afterwards, it will have much greater potency."

"Any bonfire, and any Estus Flask?" Erik inquired, intrigued. The Herald nodded.

"All bonfires are connected to each other through the First Flame, so what benefits one, the rest benefit from as well. But you must burn the Dust here, at this bonfire."

"Why?" Lucatiel asked. This time, it was Shalquoir who spoke.

"Because no other bonfire has a Fire Keeper. Our dear Emerald Herald is the last of them, and as such she has powers over the bonfires. It's also why she can improve your Estus Flasks," the cat said, earning an annoyed look from Shanalotte.

"I see. Well, I need to visit Maughlin and see if he has any clothes I can use. I'm not too fond of feeling the breeze through my shirt," Erik said, digesting the information and rising. He looked to the Herald and removed some Estus Shards from his pouch.

"Can you infuse these with my current flask? And perhaps use the Sublime Bone Dust? I don't want to mess it up and make things worse."

Shanalotte just nodded, taking the offered items before turning to the bonfire and preparing to do whatever was needed. As he waited, Erik made his way over to the Volganite's shop while Lucatiel wandered over to inspect Lenigrast's smithy.

"Oh, hello again. What can I do for you?" Maughlin the Armorer asked, hiding a smirk as he took in Erik's ripped clothes.

"Something new, and maybe some armor as well. Do you have any shirts, and can I see your lightest armor?" The chef asked, and the merchant from Volgan nodded.

"Of course. I don't have much normal clothes, as I'm not a proper tailor, but I'll see what I have. Here, this looks like it'll fit," Maughlin said, tossing a worn yet still wearable peasant's tunic at the young Undead cook. He then rooted around the interior of his Bottomless Box for a set of armor. At length, the dark skinned man removed a piece of Hardened Leather Armor, made for the upper body.

"This might be your best choice in terms of armor," Maughlin mused, passing it over for Erik to try on. "It has decent defense, and while I do have some Falconer's Armor, this is lighter and more flexible. Much better choice for fast movement and dodging."

"Thanks. How much?" Erik asked, finding the armor to be a good fit.

"For you? 1,260 souls."

"Deal," Erik agreed, passing over the souls and smiling in thanks. "I might be back. See you around."  
"Of course. Do try to come back alive. You're a good customer," Maughlin said, waving farewell.

"Hello Mrs. Melentia, how has life been?" Erik asked, walking up to the elderly vendor-hag. She cackled and smiled at the young man.

"Very good, very good! Business is brisk. I chose a good spot. All sorts of new comers enter through here, and all need items. What about yourself? Need anything?"

"A dozen Lifegems, the rest of your Amber Herbs, half a dozen Fire Bombs, and two dozen Throwing Knives," Erik requested, and Melentia cackled in glee.

"Very good purchase! Here!" She handed over the items and Erik offered up his souls to her in exchange. She grinned, her gap toothed smile wide and genuine, and she winked slyly at the young chef.

"By the way, it's a shame you had to cover yourself up again. We were all enjoying a good look! "

Erik blushed and looked away, his ears burning as Melentia cackled even louder.

"It's been a pleasure, but I need to go," he said slowly, inching away from the hag-merchant.

"Be seeing you dearie! Keh heh heh!" Erik hurried away, wondering if the shame would faded in time. He doubted it though. Undead had very good memories as long as they weren't close to Hollowing, and everyone likes to have a good laugh at someone else's expense.

"So, have you found my witless daughter yet?" Lenigrast asked, looking up for a moment from his anvil and whatever project he was currently working on. It looked like it was Lucatiel's breastplate, which made sense; it had been damaged fairly badly in the fight with the Lost Sinner.

"No, I'm afraid not, sir. But don't worry, I'll keep a sharp eye out for her."

"Ah, good, thank you young man. Anyways, where did you find that sword?" Lenigrast asked, motioning with his head to the big, blood stained sword that had once belonged to the Lost Sinner, but now lay on its side near the forge.

"Being held by a very powerful Hollow pyromancer," Erik admitted. He wasn't sure if anyone here would even recognize who she'd been. It had been centuries since she'd been locked away, after all. Come to think of it, did anyone even remember her name? The chef felt a twinge of pity for the unnamed woman; no one knew who she had been, and thus would be forgotten in the endless sea of time.

"I thought so. There's a lot of ash and the grip is almost completely charred. But whoever crafted this weapon made it to last. It's old, very old, yet all the rust and grime slides off with just a bit of scrubbing, and I can't even see any wear or tear along the blade. It's as sharp as the day it was made!" Lenigrast praised, giving it an awed look. It settled into a contemplative frown though after a bit. "Be careful with it, though. I've seen weapons that have been enchanted to cause Bleed, but this feels different. Darker, and more violent. As if it's hungry and will demand payment for every swing."

Erik nodded, staring at the long great sword. He too could feel a sinister aura around it. But if Lucatiel wanted to wield it, he'd let her, but also would be sure to watch her back. He didn't want anything to happen to her.

"Do you think you can repair this?" Erik asked, holding out his Iron Parma. The blacksmith clicked his tongue as he looked it over, tsking every so often.

"Perhaps. A little bit of Repair Powder and some extra iron and I can make it passable as a shield again. But it won't last long, or stand up to a volley of arrows or bolts. I'd recommend a new one, honestly."

"I'll keep that in mind," Erik said with a nod. He left the shield next to Lenigrast's anvil and walked out, having caught sight of someone he wanted to speak to.

"Good to see you again, young Mr. Potts," Carhillion said with a smile, beaming up at the chef. Erik smiled as well, and sat next to the old sorcerer on the bluff, and joined him in watching the ocean. Below them _Caitha's Tears_ was lashed to an impromptu dock, which was really just a bunch of rocks with ropes.

"When I came sailing up to Majula, you would not believe the fright I gave them," Carhillion chuckled, shooting a glance over at Saulden who huffed and turned away. "They thought I was a pirate, here to plunder their booty!"

"You're certainly getting into the nautical talk, I see," Erik joked, and the elderly Melfian laughed in agreement.

"Maybe I missed my calling! I could have been Carhillion of the Fleet, scourge of the seas!" The two shared a chuckle before the sorcerer looked at the chef.

"You seem to be different now. You carry yourself with greater confidence, and I can sense you've obtained some very powerful souls."

"You can?" Erik asked in surprise, hands unconsciously covering himself up. Carhillion nodded.

"It's easier for sorcerers and clerics, but anyone with enough talent and training can perceive the state of another person's soul, and what sort of souls they've gathered. Strong souls burn bright, and you're amassing quite the collection of powerful and old souls," Carhillion said. "I can also tell that your Fire Seed has changed slightly. Have you experienced anything odd with it?"

"Sort of. You see, while I was fighting an armored foe, I somehow managed to reach into the metal, and pull out its memory of heat, if that makes sense," Erik said slowly, trying to explain what he'd done. "The metal suddenly became red hot, as if it was forge fresh, and melted! I could also see the body heat of the people around me when I did so."

Carhillion leaned in, interested. "I have heard tales of pyromancers able to do such things, many of which live in the sands of Jugo. It is an ability that is most commonly is known to belong to the Desert Sorceresses, an isolated, all female clan of magic users that practice esoteric Pyromancy spells and techniques. I do not know where you can find any of them around here, though. I met one years ago, but that was when I was a strapping young lad, traveling the world studying Sorcery."

"I've heard, um, stories about the Desert Sorceresses," Erik admitted, flushing slightly red. The old man just winked knowingly.

"A lot of it is codswallop, but some of it is true. For one thing, they are beasts under the sheets," Carhillion said with a grin that was all teeth. Erik turned completely red faced, from his neck to his ears. The Melfia laughed at the young cook's expression and complexion.

"Heh, alright, enough fun. Now, was there anything else?"

"I created ice." This was said quietly, in a mumble, as if the Undead chef didn't want to mention it, but did so anyways and hoped the sorcerer would not hear. He did, though. Once you joined the ranks of the Undead, maladies and issues of age like loss of hearing and wrinkles stopped being problems. If anything, Carhillion's ears were sharper than they'd ever been in life.

"Ice? You say you created ice?"

Erik nodded and Carhillion's eyes widened.

"Amazing! Truly amazing! To think, you would manage to discover a lost magic all on your own! Truly remarkable!"  
"It is?" Erik asked, intrigued.

"Oh yes! Pyromancy is, at its core, the manipulation of fire. What is fire, though, but a form of heat and energy! As such, many a sage and researcher theorized it would be possible to reverse the flow of mana and energy when using Pyromancy, and create ice or cold temperatures!"

"Is such a thing possible? I mean, I did it, but could others?" Erik inquired, and the sorcerer nodded.

"It is possible. In fact, the Kingdom of Eleum Loyce to the far north was able to do so! They created an entirely new branch of Pyromancy; Cryomancy, the art of creating and controlling ice! But the Ivory Kingdom was isolated by rugged terrain, tall mountains, terrible weather, and an isolationist policy that makes Lanafir look open and welcoming. It was the smallest of the Three Kingdoms of Drangleic, but was also extremely powerful because of its ice magic. The secrets of their Cryomancy remained just that, a secret, and now that it has fallen like the others, they may forever be lost. But to think you could recreate it all by yourself! Amazing! You must show me!"

Erik leaned back, a tad unnerved by Carhillion's eagerness, but complied all the same. He picked up a rock in his left hand and focused on it. The ability came easier now that he'd done it once before, but it was still hard. The first time had been a spur of the moment, and he'd need a lot of practice before he could use it offensively again.

With glacial slowness, tiny blossoms of ice crackled and spread over the pebble, before they melted in the warmth of the sun. Erik panted and let go of his powers, feeling them fade. It was tiring, trying to make a Fire Seed do the opposite of what it normally does.

Carhillion's eyes were wide and sparkled with curiosity. He'd felt as well as seen the magic and was impressed by the boy's level of precise control. With training the chef could become a great mage!

"In all my years… so very beautiful," the sorcerer sighed, and he leaned back, staring at the clouds. He then turned to Erik, who looked back.

"I do not think I can help you much with this, you'll have to learn how to control the ice and flames on your own. I'll do what I can, but this is not my area of expertise. Perhaps if you found my student, Rosabeth, she'd be able to provide more assistance. Until then, I'd recommend you take notes on yourself and practice carefully on your own. This is a great opportunity for you. Do try to take it easy and not die, alright?"

"I'll do my best. Farewell, Carhillion."

"Hello there again. Still have your wits about you?"

"As many as ever. Greetings, Sir Saulden," Erik said, approaching the steps which the Crestfallen Knight had long ago commandeered. He just nodded, and looked at the chef with an unreadable expression.

"My dear friend Targey sent me a message a while ago. You did him and my brothers and sisters a favor. Thank you for letting them have a taste of good food one more time."

"It was no problem at all, sir. I like to cook and I was glad to help. To be honest I enjoyed it. It reminded me of cooking back in Lindelt. I had to make a lot of huge meals back then as well," Erik said, waving off the thanks, a fond smile on his face as he recalled the past.

"Well, he wanted to give you something as payment. Here." Saulden held out his hand and dropped a large, metal ring into the cook's open palm. "A Ring of Steel Protection. It is enchanted to increase the hardness of the clothes or armor of its wearer. A common item in my homeland of Mirrah, at least for the knights."

"Does Lucatiel have one?" Erik asked, looking over the fine craftsmanship of the item before slipping it onto his left hand.

"If they are a knight, then yes. All knights of Mirrah are given such a ring as a gift upon earning the title," Saulden said, while he raised an eyebrow as the young man put on the ring, noting that the chef already had two other rings on that hand; the Silver Serpent and Clothary rings.

There was a reason only two or less rings could be worn on each hand. A very simple one, really. Magic reacts in interesting ways when it is forced to share the same space as other magic. It was why Bottomless Boxes sometimes turned into Mimics; the enchantment on the container mutated due to prolonged contact with other magical items stored within. For magic rings, which possessed delicate and precise enchantments, the results can be… messy. More often than not, if a person wore too many Magic Rings their hands would overload with magic and explode! For Undead this wasn't too bad, as some Estus would regrow the pulped appendage in time. But it was inconvenient and when surrounded by danger, it could be life threatening.

And yet Erik did not seem to have any ill effects. The reaction was usually instantaneous, but here the boy's hands didn't seem to be in any danger. Saulden frowned and peered at the chef. He looked, and saw several familiar souls. Last Giant, Dragonrider, Flexile Sentry, Ruin Sentinel, and Lost Sinner. But there was one he did not recognize. It was tied to the Lost Sinner's soul, but was stronger and more primal. Ancient in a way that Saulden had never seen before. Who, or what, did it belong to? Where did he obtain it? The former Monarch Candidate did not know, and felt curiosity kindle in his heart. As soon as it appeared though the Crestfallen Knight stamped it down viciously. Curiosity was what led him to try and complete the tasks the Emerald Herald had set. Curiosity was what nearly caused him to go Hollow. Better to forget it and let the chef deal with it himself.

"Do try to be safe out there. Drangleic is a scary place," the knight of the Way of Blue warned, and Erik nodded. The veteran warrior paused, before offering up some more advice.

"If you wish to find the next area you seek, go to where you traveled to reach Heide. But go left instead of right in the rotunda. I believe a cleric has set up shop down there. She can help you progress down the next path."

"Thank you, I will take your advice," Erik said, bowing slightly to the despondent man. Saulden just gave a halfhearted wave in response, and watched in silence as the young Undead left.

"Bearer of the Curse, I have done as you requested," Shanalotte said, handing Erik his newly reinforced Estus Flask. The bonfire had changed as well; the flames were a bit whiter than before. He nodded in thanks, bowing slightly.

"I thank you, Fire Keeper," Erik said gratefully, but he received an angry glare for the Emerald Herald.

"I do not like that title." Her words were laced were repressed fury and years of pain and Erik took an involuntary step back. Shalquoir sighed sadly and gave Shanalotte a pitying look.

"I shall remember that," Erik promised, hastily bowing again.

"Be safe on your journey, Bearer of the Curse. Till hope withers, I shall be here," the Emerald Herald said stoically.

"Of course. And when I return, I wish to speak with you about some of what I have been coming to learn of," Erik stated. "I have many questions."

In response Shanalotte just turned away and looked out across the sea. The message was clear. Erik walked away, feeling a strange tingle in his chest.

Lucatiel was waiting nearby, her weapons and armor fully repaired and she held out the mended Iron Parma to the chef.

"Ready to leave?" She asked from behind her silver mask. Erik nodded.

"Yes. Come, I've been given a hint on where to go next." He led the way, down the steps of the tunnel till the pair came to the pillared rotunda. There, Erik was pleasantly surprised to see Licia the cleric waiting down there.

She looked up as the duo approached, and smiled shyly at Erik, a tiny dusting of red on her cheeks that did not go unnoticed by the knightess.

"Hello again, young Potts. Is your journey going well?"

"It is, thank you for the concern Lady Licia," Erik replied, a friendly smile on her face. He looked around, as if trying to find something.

"Is everything alright? Do you require anything? I have Miracles for sale if you need any. I know you said he didn't, but…" Licia said hesitantly, and Erik shook his head.

"No, not at the moment. It's just that Sir Saulden said we could find another way through here, but I'm not seeing anything…"

"Oh, you seek to head into the Huntsman's Copse?" Licia said, a note of worry in her voice. "I'd avoid that place if I were you. The Brotherhood of Blood holds sway over the area."

Erik grimaced at the thought of the mad cultists, but stood up straighter.

"I need to go through."

Licia sighed but nodded, before placing her hand on a stone panel that was on the side of the pillar. A flash of golden light blazed from her hand, and she smirked as Erik and Lucatiel jumped in surprise when the walls started moving, revealing a hidden passageway to the left.

"This mechanism was built to only be opened with the application of Miracles, or by a cleric of a certain rank. I do not know who designed it as such, but the path it reveals leads to the south-east, into the outskirts of the Old Iron King's domain. Be careful. Of course, if you want, I could come with you…" Licia fidgeted a bit as she timidly offered her help, casting covert glances at the young man. But Erik shook his head, much to Lucatiel's hidden delight.

"I appreciate the thought, but I'd feel better if you were safe. The journey I'm on is going to be perilous, and I do not know where I'll end up."

"I am adept with many Miracles, both offensive and defensive," Licia protested, not entirely happy that he thought she could not take care of herself, but also a bit touched at his concern.

"Of that I have no doubt, the fact you've thrived in Drangleic for so long being proof enough," Erik said, soothing her pride. "There may be a time I need your help, but until then I'd rather you stay safe, and protect Majula. Not everyone there is a capable fighter."

"Of course. I shall do my best," Licia said, turning her head to the side so neither could see her giddy grinning face. It had been so long since anyone had been this kind and thoughtful to her, let alone a handsome young man!

Lucatiel snorted, not fooled at all, and looked to the oblivious chef.

"Come on then, Erik. We should get going while we still have some daylight left."

"Of course! Goodbye, Lady Licia. I hope to see you again soon!"

The cleric, who'd snapped her head around when she'd heard the feminine voice come from behind the mask, put on a fake smile.

"I too. And I hope your… 'friend' stays safe as well."

Erik smiled and waved farewell, blissfully unaware of the sparks he'd accidentally set.


	15. Chapter 15: Oath of Allegiance

_**Chapter 15: Oath of Allegiance**_

The passageway to the dreaded Huntsman's Copse was rough and rocky, similar to the one that had lead from Heide to the Wharf. A corpse was encountered on the way in, carrying few things of interest, save for a single vial of blood red elixir. Erik recognized it as Rouge Water, a contraband healing potion, at least in Lindelt. No one was sure why the Church banned the clearly potent and beneficial solution, though many assumed it had to do with the fact it could only be manufactured in Melfia, or by a powerful sorcerer.

Past that, the duo came to a large cavern with the walkway winding up and around a deep pit, leading to a pool of water. As they walked through, they started to cough and choke on a purplish mist that filled the air, their limbs becoming heavy and their minds hazy. After chomping on clumps of Poison Moss Erik passed out, the two eventually traced the mist to a number of large, beautiful moths that were oozing the toxic substance.

"So beautiful! When they're not, you know, poisoning us," Erik commented, looking down at the corpse of one, a throwing knife embedded in its back. "Do you know what it is?"

"I believe they're called Moon Butterflies. We have them in Mirrah, deep in the oldest forests. But I've never seen one so big! These are easily ten times the size of my homeland's native species. Plus, the time is all wrong." Lucatiel nudged the body with the toe of her boot, a tone of confusion clear in her voice.

"How do you mean?"

"Moon Butterflies only appear at night and in the dead of winter, feeding on the sap of maple trees. As far as I can tell it is still summer here in Drangleic, and we found these ones in a cave."

"Maybe the Drangleic breed does it differently?" Erik offered, and Lucatiel shrugged. She reached down and plucked the knife from its back and handed it back to the chef.

"You know, I've heard tell that the loggers near my hometown used to eat Moon Butterflies when they were dried. Maybe your ancestor has something in that book about these ones?"

Erik blinked, then slowly nodded. That actually made sense. He reached into his pouch and extracted the journal, flipping through the pages carefully. After few minutes he smiled.

"Huh, there are a few recipes for using them, and a bit of information as well. It seems the Drangleic breed is the original, and its smaller cousins elsewhere are just different adaptations. He also notes the Moon Butterfly may be the descendant of the legendary Moonlight Butterfly, according to the research done by some of Vendrick's scholars," Erik said, impressed. He looked at it a bit more, and smiled. The recipes Donovan Potts had recorded were interesting, based on a mix of Jugonan and Mirrahian cuisine.

Mind made up, Erik bent down and began to cut up the Moon Butterfly, careful to remove the wings first which carried the poison. Next, he cut off the head, making sure to preserve the feelers though. Finally, after tenderly slicing the body into smaller segments, Erik came away with only a few ounces of viable moth meat. It wasn't much, and he hoped they'd run into more so he could harvest them for their tasty flesh.

Finally on the move again, Erik and Lucatiel soon found themselves on the way out, the exit of the cave beckoning. Fading daylight could be seen beyond, the dusk approaching. What really drew their attention though was a man, sitting in a nook near the exit in a rickety wooden chair. He was dressed in black robes that had seen better days, and were in the style of a Melfian sorcerer, but with a black and white hood with swirled designs over his head. He glanced up as the pair neared him, and he frowned. When Erik got closer, he spoke up, his voice raspy with disuse.

"The Dark stirs… I see… The Dark has sparked within you… My name is Felkin. I will trade with you. What do you need?"

"Um, what do you sell?" Erik asked, politely. Lucatiel kept a close eye on the man, but he seemed to only have eyes for the cook.

"Tools for use with Hexes and their mystical spells… a few other things as well," the sorcerer named Felkin said.

Erik and Lucatiel tensed, taking a step back from the demented mage. Hexes were dark magic, banned by both the Church and the sorcerers of Melfia! It was the one thing they agreed on whole heartedly. And this man openly spoke of such things?!

"What makes you think I'd require such items?" Erik asked, fear carefully hidden. The madman laughed.

"I-I can see it, th-the potential. Y-you burn bright with light, but the brightest fires cast the longest shadows, and last half as long. In time, you'll see the need for the gi-gifts the Dark can offer."

"Where did you learn of such a forbidden art?" Lucatiel inquired. Felkin laughed, turning his gimlet gaze onto the knightess.

"I w-went…I went…I went to a great school…in the south… But neither sorcery nor pyromancy appealed…I… I-I learned nothing…nothing at all… I-it was there that I happened upon the Dark. It drew me in… The nebulous Dark… Soon, I was drawn to this land, where Dark runs deeper than anywhere else." Felkin leaned back in his chair, smiling in fond memories. "The Curse was the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

At that, Lucatiel clenched her fists in barely suppressed fury. It was the Curse of the Undead that forced her brother to run and lose his status! It was the Curse that drove her to this land in search of her brother.

"I'm afraid we have business elsewhere," Erik said, stepping in before things got ugly, having seen Lucatiel tense up in fury.

"Come again… as you like… The Dark… Is always within you…" Felkin said with a smirk, before turning back to stare at the wall. Erik led his friend away from the mad Hexer, unwilling to have anything to do with him.

Emerging from the cave, the pair saw a bonfire standing near a ledge and made a beeline to it. Spotting some crates and boxes nearby, he dragged two over and placed them in front of the crackling sparks. Resting at the soothing flames, Erik turned to look at his companion.

"Do you think we should inform someone that a Hexer is nearby?" Erik asked after a while, trying to start conversation but also genuinely worried about Felkin's proximity to Majula.

"When we return from obtaining whatever it is you need, we shall. For now, he seems to be no threat," Lucatiel said curtly, and Erik frowned in worry.

"What's bothering you, Luca?"

The knightess looked up sharply at the nickname, causing Erik to flinch, before she settled down a sighed. She removed her mask and stared up into Erik's eyes.

The Undead chef was taken aback. He'd never seen the woman take her mask off unless she was eating. But now she looked at him with her blue eyes with sorrow in them.

"Those words he spoke back there… that the Curse was the best thing to happen to him? That… that's just…!" She pounded a fist into the dirt beside her, cracking her box. "I lost everything to the Curse! So did my brother! And yet he dares to claim it was a good thing?!"

"Carhillion said he was glad for it," Erik said hesitantly. Lucatiel tensed up, but sighed as her shoulders slumped.

"He died and lost much, but he's looking at the bright side. He's taken the opportunities granted by the Curse to explore his dreams. Something I find envious. I-I cannot do such a thing. I don't have those. Not anymore. I already achieved it, and ended up losing it." Lucatiel shut her eyes, fighting back tears. "Being a knight was everything to me. To help my family, and be like my brother… what do I have now? And even if I find Aslatiel, what can I do after that?"

Erik bit his lower lip, before deciding to do something completely crazy. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Lucatiel, giving her a massive hug. She stiffened as she felt him do so, but after a shuddering whimper let him do as he wanted.

"I'm sorry, Lucatiel. I don't have answer for you on what your future should look like, but please, don't give up. Your brother is counting on you, whether he knows it or not. And so am I. I need you Lucatiel. Alone, I'd have died so many times. But since you chose to stay by my side, I have not died once! And you know what? I'm glad. You're a good person, Lucatiel. More than a knight, you're my friend. And I don't want you to give up and go Hollow."

The two were silent for a while as they just relaxed in each other's presence, content to enjoy the comfort of a hug and a friend. After a few minutes passed Lucatiel was the first to move, softly pushing Erik away.

"Thank you, Erik. I feel a lot better now," she said, a tiny yet sincere smile on her lips. She quickly reattached her mask as the chef stepped back, who offered his own warm smile.

"I'm glad I could help," the cook said happily.

"Before we move on, I'd like to do something. Do you mind waiting a bit?" Lucatiel asked and Erik nodded.

"Whatever you need."

His eyes widened as Lucatiel removed her sword, the large blade catching the bonfire's light and turning it into a shimmering mirror that cast reflections of fiery radiance across the area.

Smoothly, the knightess planted the blade in the ground in front of her and then kneeled before Erik, whose jaw dropped. Was this going where he thought this was going…?

"I, Lucatiel, daughter of Baratiel, Ordained Knight of Mirrah, have seen your worth. You are kind, considerate, generous, and noble. I pledge my blade, my shield, and my soul to your service! From this moment forth, I will fight your battles and carry your burdens. I will live for you and die for you! Until my life ends, or my services are no longer required, we shall be as master and servant. _Et sunt Mundi, f_ _lamma meus es tu_!"

'Till the world ends, my flame is yours!'

Okay, yeah, it went exactly where Erik thought it would go!

Erik could not believe this! He was a commoner at best, a bastard child at worst! His family might have some degree of importance and influence, but in the end all they were was a bunch of chefs! To have a knight pledge their undying (heh!) loyalty to him was not something he had ever dreamed of! He looked down at Lucatiel in shock, and she stared back up at him, a fierce determination burning in her eyes he could feel even through the mask.

"I don't know what to say," Erik said after a pause, scratching the back of his neck.

"Erik…" Lucatiel's voice held sadness in it. She'd laid her soul bare, shown him her feelings and resolve, and that was all he could say?

"I mean, I don't know what to say for accepting. I uh, never had someone want to be my knight before," Erik explained hastily as he scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. Lucatiel blinked, before laughing in joy and amusement.

"That's alright. Just say whatever comes to mind."

"Alright… Ahem! I, Erik Potts, son of Jack Potts, Chef of Lindelt, whole heartedly accept the kindness of Lucatiel, knight of Mirrah, to become sword, shield, and friend to myself." The knightess in question looked at him sharply at that, to which Erik just shrugged with a smirk. "Until our mission is finished, we shall be together. Neither death nor Hollowing shall change that. _Ego semper amicus_!"

'I will always be your friend!'

"An interesting take on the oath, my friend," Lucatiel said with a chuckle, one that Erik joined in on.

"I thought it was fitting. I never learned the oaths of Lindelt, so I improvised."

Lucatiel stood, swinging her sword to rest of her shoulder as she peered ahead into the growing dusk.

"Let's go and see what else Drangleic has in store for us."


	16. Chapter 16: Bone Yards and Red Invasions

_**Chapter 16: Bone Yards and Red Invasions**_

What Drangleic had in store for the two Undead travelers was apparently lots of uphill walking, ruins filled with Hollows, and a dead forest also filled to the brim with Hollow!

The Huntsman's Copse was eerie and had a sense of dread hanging in the air. Night had fallen completely by the time Erik and Lucatiel reached the forest proper, and the moon and stars gleamed in the dark, providing illumination alongside mountains of burning corpses. The pyres were far off, up on hills and behind rocky outcroppings, yet their light and charred smells filled the hilly region with unsettling shadows and sensations.

The Hollows too were vile and disgusting, many wearing bandages like the Undead Jailors of the Lost Bastille, and were armed in much the same way with Man-Catchers and Pyromancy Gloves. The rest were clad like thieves or near naked, neither proving much trouble. Lucatiel's sword was both long and heavy, and it split the Man-Catchers of the Jailors in twain, while Erik's Pyromancy, ladle and dagger were enough to dispatch the smaller, weaker Hollows.

As the chef fought, he was slowly starting to come to understand how he could use his magic to create ice instead of fire. So far, he could only disperse and absorb the heat around him, which by extension caused frost to appear nearby on enemy targets. From there he hoped to actually generate ice rather than steal heat like he had done spontaneously with the Lost Sinner. And as Carhillion had requested he made notes when he could about his progress.

A full day had passed since the pair had entered the dark and gloomy woods, and the going was rough. Many of the paths and roads were carved straight into the sides of the cliffs and hills, which made them very narrow and the drop very perilous. That which wasn't steep and sloped was uneven, filled with dead trees, and crawling with Hollows. More and more though many of the Undead Jailors and Slavers worn a unique emblem on their ragged clothes; a black bull's head, the symbol of the Old Iron King of Alken. These men had once been servants to the king before their land fell to the Curse. Erik wondered how it all had happened.

Advancing through the copse did bring one bright spot for Erik; he was able to harvest a large number of Moon Butterflies for their feelers and meat. He cooked some but saved most of it, wanting to gather more ingredients before trying any of Donovan's more advanced recipes.

"What purpose do the feelers have?" Lucatiel finally asked after the seventh moth-like insect. Erik hadn't even paused in his dressing of the corpse as he answered.

"Alone, the feelers of a Moon Butterfly are useless. Tasteless, little nutritional value, and slightly poisonous because of the dust scales of the rest of the body. But, if they are boiled in water with Twilight Dusk Herbs they lose their toxicity and make an excellent substitute for sugar. They can then be boiled to make a syrupy sauce or dried and ground up to make something akin to powdered sugar. It was apparently a staple for desserts in Drangleic, since sugarcane only grows in Lanafir and is difficult to obtain in large quantities or transport long distances."

Lucatiel was impressed by her companion's knowledge, even if it was taken from a book. Not to mention she was looking forward to having something sweet. Most candies and treats in Mirrah were made of honey or maple syrup, since sugar was so expensive. Even as a knight she'd only ever eaten food made with real sugar a few times.

Currently the two Undead had emerged from a dense section of forest to stand on a long, rocky cliff. A faint orange glow could be seen, and Erik grinned in relief. A bonfire! It was below a bridge that led to a giant coliseum built into the side of the mountains across a deep valley. The pair rested only long enough to refill their Estus. After that they moved on, getting bad vibes from the far off structure.

A sudden chill ran down the chef's spine as he spared a glance at the distant building. Something was very wrong with that place, and he could tell Lucatiel sensed the same thing. The young Undead cook could feel something deeper in that place. It felt, strangely, like the Soul of the Old Witch he carried, as if a fragment of the First Flame that was not a bonfire was up there.

"Erik, is that where we need to go?" Lucatiel asked cautiously, and to her relief the chef shook his head.

"No. Something is up there, but I do not feel drawn to it. If anything, I feel repulsed. I believe we should avoid that place as much as possible." The knightess' shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Good. Where to then?"

"Deeper into the woods, towards the mountains. I think we need to head further into Alken, maybe all the way to the Iron Citadel itself," Erik said, pointing off to the looming peaks of the Coalbrand Mountains which divided the territories of Alken from the rest of Drangleic. Lucatiel grimaced but nodded. Heading to the capitol of the Old Iron King's domain meant heading through the poisonous fume choked Harvest Valley. But if that was what had to be done, then there was no choice.

"Do you have any idea where to go from here to reach that place?" Erik asked after walking for a bit, glancing back at Lucatiel. She nodded and pulled out a sheet of parchment covered in lines and runes and drawings.

"I investigated the manor you told me about a while ago, the one with the stone map. I copied what I could, but it wasn't much. But based on what I did obtain, there should be a pass through the mountains leading from here to the Harvest Valley. We should look for a gatehouse or some sort of large building that was built into the passageway to act as a toll gate."

"Huh, that sounds useful… what about reaching it? How do we get to it from here?" Erik asked while staying on guard as he surveyed the area to avoid being ambushed.

"I think there should be a series of bridges that connect from here to there. Other than that. Walking."

"Joy. You know I'm glad that the Undead don't get blisters. Because this would be a lot worse if that was the case," Erik griped, earning a chuckle from his knightess.

"Don't be such a baby, Erik. You can face down an ancient demented pyromancer and abominations of nature yet all it takes to defeat you is a bit of walking? The bards will sing of this for ages to come," Lucatiel laughed, and after a pout, the chef joined in as well.

Eventually the pair came to a very large bridge that was sealed with a pair of large metal doors. There was a lever nearby, so thankfully they did not have to worry too much about finding alternate routes. But the two Undead quickly wished for one.

Across the metal bridge were three massive bonfires, except they were not kind and gentle ones that refilled Estus and mended wounds. These were towering mounds of corpses, set aflame and used as fuel for dark, twisted fires born of anguish and malice.

Erik's Fire Seed throbbed painfully as he got closer, and tiny sparks spat out, as if finding the very existence of these dark flames an insult to be purged in righteous, true flames. But the cook squeezed his left hand shut, desperate to keep the Pyromancy contained. There would be time for venting later. But not now.

The corpse-bonfires were much larger than any of the others Erik and Lucatiel had seen so far, and were positioned in a semi-circle around a collection of squat dome shaped prison cells, all but one empty, though there was an actual healing bonfire secreted away in one that stood nearby. They'd use it later. For now it was best to investigate why one of the prison cells had a guest.

Inside the occupied cell was a man in chainmail and leather, with a large two handed axe and a face covering helmet. He glared up as the two freed Undead approached, his stare hardening as he spotted Lucatiel and her outfit.

"You there, boy! Please, get me out of here!" The man demanded, and Lucatiel gasped as she saw the insignia on his outfit.

"You there! You wear the armor of a soldier of Mirrah! Who are you?" Lucatiel inquired, a feeling of unease in her chest as the warrior turned his stare to her.

"I am Creighton, and yes I am from Mirrah. Once part of the Border Guard before the Curse damned me. What is it to you, knight?"

"Have you perhaps seen any other Mirrahian knight about? Specifically one with a deep blue feather in his cap and a sword with the inscription 'I shall not die before you' near the hilt?"

"I've seen a few knights, but most were Hollowed. Maybe one had blue feathers instead of red or yellow, I wasn't really paying attention to that at the time. And if I was that close to a sword to see such a message on it, the wielder is either Hollowed or a killer." Creighton chuckled at that last part, infuriating Lucatiel.

"So you have not?"

"No. Now are you going to let me out of this cage or not?"

"Where is the key?" Erik asked, looking the prison door over. It looked extremely sturdy and fairly well maintained, so force would have to be a final option.

"The bastard who locked me in here threw the key away! I don't know where it went," Creighton lamented. Erik just frowned, then smiled as inspiration struck.

"Step back, I'll see what I can do," Erik promised, and the trapped soldier obliged by pressing up against the far wall. Taking a deep breath, Erik grabbed the bars with his hands and focused on the metal, letting his Pyromancy seek out the door's distant memories of heat and being hot, and pulled. Much slower than before, the bars began to turn bright red, radiating heat before hissing as they melted away. Erik then pulled the remaining bits of molten slag away revealing a decently sized hole for a human to fit through. Creighton nodded, dutifully impressed by the display and gave the chef a deep bow as he extracted himself.

"Thank you for that, dear friend! I am in your debt! I'll be sure to remember this! Now, I'm off to find the rat who did this to me… thinks he can escape? Ha! No one crosses me…" The soldier from Mirrah wandered off in the direction Erik and Lucatiel had come from, his mutter threats and complaining faded as he left.

"Everything alright, Lucatiel?" Erik asked, noticing the pensive stance the knightess had assumed.

"Perhaps… his name seems familiar for some reason. He wasn't a knight… something else then?" She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. "Whatever it was, I don't like the feel he gave off. He shames the uniform he wears."

"If we run into him again we can stay away if you wish," Erik offered, and his companion nodded in thanks.

They took off, heading down the second bridge across from the bonfires and dispatched the Hollowed thief on the other end, coming to a winding path cut into a valley. At the far end a large yet ruined building stood, the bull of the Old Iron King still visible despite the march of time all over. However, there was one problem; a fog gate, barely noticeable due to the distance. It was not an immediate issue, as they still had to walk quite a ways to get there, but regardless the point remained. There was something powerful on the other side of it!

A sound that was both a deep groan and vibrating hum split the air all of a sudden, and dread settled on Erik and Lucatiel's shoulders as their stomachs rebelled against them. A lump of fear formed in the chef's throat, and Lucatiel tensed. She'd heard and felt this before. It had been a week or so into her stay in Drangleic, and she'd had a run-in with the most reviled force in the land: The Brotherhood of Blood! This bone rattling sound accompanied by a wave of nausea was the hallmark of an Invasion, a twisted form of spacial transference used by other Convenants and Soapstone users.

"Erik, we need to find cover! Somewhere we can make a stand against the Invader," Lucatiel said, grabbing his arm. Erik stopped shaking as he was reminded of his powerful friend's presence, and he nodded eagerly. Quickly the cook pointed behind them to a squat structure they had passed and cleared of Hollows just moments ago.

"There, that prison dome! We can hide inside and spring an ambush when they get closer," Erik suggested, and Lucatiel grinned and nodded her head. Normally she'd be adverse to such tactics, but these were Brotherhood bastards, and had it coming. Not to mention it gave her a thrill of vindictive pleasure to know she'd be defeating one of them the same way they'd done to her!

Unfortunately their Invader had had the same idea, and a red glowing phantom appeared, forming a few feet in front of them and blocking their way to the cell.

It was a woman, judging from the two round bulges only partially obscured by her robe. The make was that of a sorceress of some kind, but the rest of her outfit made it hard to tell. On her head she wore a large horned skull with an odd eye-like orb embedded in the forehead. In her hands she carried a long scythe made of bone and wood and a similarly made shield. A faint tang of ozone, a telltale sign of magic, hung around the Invader, and Erik tensed as her gaze fell on him.

Saulen's words came back to him. Enemies with sufficient talent could sense powerful souls huh? And for a group of ruthless killers like the Brotherhood, his own souls likely seemed far too tantalizing to ignore. He was proved right when the woman swung them with her weapon.

Erik stepped back and Lucatiel took a defensive stance, blocking the polearm with her great sword. Erik conjured a Fireball and hurled it, smirking as the Invader was forced to raise her shield to block it. But the sorceress spun, swinging her scythe in a wide arc. Again Lucatiel blocked, but the blow jarred her and she took a step back in response. There was not a lot of room on the narrow road to fight, and one small misstep could send any of them over the edge to a painful meeting with the rocks below.

The Invader knew this though, and kept up her attacks while blocking Erik's Fireballs, keeping the Undead travelers on the defensive. Without warning a black glow wreathed her weapon's edge and a shockwave of darkness lashed out! It was a Hex of some sort, Erik's magic senses informing him of that. The darkness was thick and heavy, and Lucatiel had not been expecting such an attack. It staggered her, leaving her vulnerable to an attack! The scythe never reached the knightess though, as Erik stepped in and took the blow, the point digging deep into his shoulder while his dagger turned aside most of the force.

"Burn!" Erik growled, and he unleashed a Combustion in the Red Phantom's skulled face. She staggered back, a silent scream making the air tremble. Erik grinned, but knew this was not a real problem. It was two on one, and Lucatiel was much more skilled than this woman when it came to handling weapons!

The bravado was instantly sucked out though as first one and then two more convulsions of reality hit them. Erik paled and Lucatiel's eyes widened in fear.

Two more Invaders?! The skull-wearing Invader suddenly relaxed her posture, and an air of smugness suffused her body language.

Indeed, a pair of Red Phantoms were manifesting behind them, and Erik's stomach dropped. One was a lanky bandaged man with a Man-Catcher polearm and a whip, much like some of the Hollows they'd seen elsewhere in the Huntsman's Copse. The other, though, was a much more terrifying sight.

He was not overly large, but his heavy and bulky armor gave him an air of hugeness that was more than a little intimidating. Then there was his armaments, which included a very large great sword and an equally large tower shield. Both of them blocked any escape down that way, and with a Hexer in front and two melee focused Invaders behind, this was not going to end well for Erik or Lucatiel.

"Push through!" Erik shouted and he and the knightess rushed the female Invader, hoping to smash her aside and have a better chance against the other two that way. Sensing their plan, the woman reacted by casting a spell. Space seemed to distort violently in front of her, and the two charging Undead were thrown back as they collided with what felt like a steel wall. Ok, so she had a way to deny them escape. Great. What else could go wrong?

Erik's question was sadly answered by what felt like a spiked collar attaching itself around his neck and he was lifted bodily into the air, his feet kicking helplessly. Pain shot through his throat as sharp spikes drove into his flesh, and he could vaguely make out the bandaged Invader holding him aloft with his Man-Catcher while Lucatiel had a desperate battle against the heavily armored one. The Hexer just laughed, soundlessly doubled over as she pointed and mocked the chef's current situation. Meanwhile, the Man-Catcher was maneuvered so its prisoner was dangling over the sheer drop, and would thus fall if either of them moved around too much.

Erik closed his eyes. The fall would hurt, but he'd be back at the bonfire in time. Not that it wouldn't be bad. What would be was that his souls, which were substantial in number, would be lost and he had no doubt that the Invaders were going to steal them before he could run back and reclaim them. He only hoped Lucatiel would spawn at the bonfire soon after him.

The Man-Catcher jerked about suddenly, and Erik yelped as the sharp bits pressing on his neck drew blood. He opened his eyes and tried to turn his head to glare at the offending Invader. If he was going to die the least the Red Phantoms could do was make it quick and painless. However, the glare quickly morphed into surprise as he saw the bisected halves of the bandaged Invader tumbling down into the ravine before fading into red mist and light and a stream of souls.

Erik felt himself dropped down onto the ground away from the drop and with hurried hands he removed the weapon restraining his neck. Twisting around a wide smile broke across the chef's face. There, standing triumphantly with a large battle axe, was a very familiar blue person.

"Gordin!" Erik cried, glad to see the tall Forossan Blue Sentinel. The Blue Phantom nodded before turning to the great sword wielding Red Phantom. Both of them stared each other down before charging, the Invader ignoring Lucatiel now that a greater threat had appeared. That left the Hexer, who was starting to think the tables had turned.

Erik dashed over to the female Red Phantom and grabbed her wrist with his left hand, his Fire Seed pulsing eagerly. He'd discovered that a Phantom did not possess body heat, being an astral projection sustained with magic. But that did not stop substances from affecting them, and the chef's smile quickly turned feral as he blew the Hexer's arm off with a Combustion. A noiseless scream is all the Hexer can release as her scythe falls to the ground along with her right hand, elbow, and part of her shoulder. Thankfully her suffering is short lived as Lucatiel runs her through before ripping her blade upwards at an angle, bisecting the woman.

As souls rush into the two Undead they turned back to observe the battle between the Forossan and the Brother of Blood. Gordin was faster than the heavily armed and armored swordsman, but his blows did not do that much damage against the massive shield and thick armor. Both combatants knew this, and were trying to find a way around this. And the Blue Sentinel managed it first, clinching the battle.

Gordin whipped out a clerics chime, to the surprise over everyone present, and then smirked as the Emit Force Miracle erupted forth and stagger the Red Phantom, making him lose his footing and tumble over the edge into the deep valley. The Blue Sentinel just gave a mocking wave at the Brother of Blood as he plunged to his doom, before turning to Erik and Lucatiel and giving a polite bow. Once the souls flew up to them, the Blue Phantom started to flicker and fade, Gordin's face breaking into a wide grin as he looked at Erik before winking as he vanished.

The chef blinked slowly, confused by Gordin's gesture. He turned to Lucatiel to inquire about her thoughts on the matter, before he froze like a deer in the presence of a wolf. The knightess' armor had taken a beating from the Red Phantoms, and at some point her hat and mask had been knocked off, along with the ribbon tying her hair back. Her soft brown hair now lay loose in a fan around her shoulders with her bangs drooping in an alluring manner.

He gulped as odd feelings stirred in his stomach and he looked away. It was the first time he had ever seen her let her hair down, and he couldn't deny she was lovely.

Lucatiel just tilted her head unknowingly and bent down, retrieving her hat, the front brim bearing a long cut in it. In addition her mask was busted, shorn clean in twain by a glancing blow from the great sword. She jammed her cap back onto her head, and rolled her shoulders. The mask halves were slipped into her pouch, to be repaired by Lenigrast later.

"Come on Erik. We should try and push through the Fog Gate tonight, before anything else. I really do not want to linger in this place any longer and draw more Invaders to us."

The chef agreed, and the two hurried down the rugged mountain path and reached the run-down building, the fog almost leering at them.

"Ready?" Erik asked. Lucatiel nodded.

"Ready." Pushing through the fog was easy as always. But as soon as they emerged into the room, both Undead knew this was going to be 'interesting.'

Corpses. Mountains of them, piled around the room. Some, the ones at the top, were rotting, the flesh hanging in shreds and all but dripping into puddles of drying gore. At the bottom were bleached white bones, stark pinpricks of ivory in the darkness of the room. The pillars of death crackled with tainted flames just like the ones outside. The floor was carpeted in bones while the walls were buried beneath them, and furniture, specifically three throne-like chairs, were built from the remains in a macabre display of death. Lastly, seated atop these grim seats was a trio of skeletal men, each as different as they were the same.

Each wore tattered black and gold magisterial robes, accompanied with a crown made of bones on their fleshless skulls. One carried a scythe similar to the one used by the Hexer Invader, one bore a boney spear, and the last clutched a sorcerer's staff made of bone. Creakingly they rose, red lights flaring to life in their sockets as they leapt down from their thrones and advanced upon Erik and Lucatiel.

"Take out the sorcerer first!" Erik shouted. He knew how dangerous long ranged attacks could be, and it was always best to eliminate people who could use such things first. His short time in Drangleic had already taught him so. Lucatiel nodded, completely in agreement, and soon she was off, bashing apart the mage skeleton. Meanwhile, Erik lobbed Fireballs at the other two skeletal lords to keep them from his partner. They turned, and were fairly slow, even compared to other Hollows.

How were they even able to animate themselves, though? Erik knew Necromancy was a school of magic, albeit a banned one, and it fit under the art of Hexes. And it would take an extremely powerful magic caster to maintain the spell on themselves, let alone three others. And to be honest, Erik doubted that the sorcerer of the trio could manage even preserving himself. So he let his senses expand, relying on the Fire Seed to filter the magic and find a solution to the problem. It came quickly.

The answer was the burning piles of bones! These three men were sustaining their existence via the bodies of the Undead around them, using Hexes to create pseudo-bonfires to channel Estus-like energy to themselves. And they needed lots of bodies to maintain the spell.

If that was the case, he could slay all three by extinguishing the fires in this room! Perhaps not permanently, seeing as there were numerous fake bonfires all over the Huntsman's Copse, but it would take exceedingly long to regenerate from the loss of the primary bonefires.

Spinning around, Erik slapped his left palm onto the nearest unholy pyre, and let his Pyromancy go wild. It was already affronted by these cheap blasphemies to the First Flame, and it burned bright to eradicate them.

The Skeleton Lords screeched as their source of power was attacked, and they lunged at Erik. He countered by throwing a Fire Bomb onto their feet, causing them to skip back a step from the explosion. Erik just gritted his teeth and ignored the stinging, and quick started to suck the heat out of the room, suffocating the dark flames with a slow creep of magical ice. Lucatiel cried out in triumph as the sorcerer skeleton clattered to the floor dead, and turned her attention towards defending the cook from his attackers while he finished his mad scheme. Before she could reach Erik though four skeletons rose from the ground, piecing themselves together as the soul of the crown wearing sorcerer entered them instead of the knightess. A failsafe of some sort, to punish the killer of a Skeleton Lord by both denying souls and spawning additional foes.

Despite being crazy and insane, Erik's plan was working. The two remaining Skeleton Lords movements became sluggish, and they were easily parried by Erik even as he focused on purging their necromantic fuel source. He was using the Handmaiden's Ladle for this, as the blunt instrument was adept at cracking bones thanks to its unusual hardness. But the Pyromancy was taking a toll on him. He face became pale and sweat beaded along his brow, while his breathing became labored.

"Just a little bit more," He panted, and pushed even harder. The duo of skeletal overseers was still advancing, and he didn't think he could last much longer. Desperate, Erik let his Fire Seed feed on the souls he'd collected as fuel, and it greedily ate them up at a rapid pace. Suddenly, there was a loud 'Pop!' and the pyre of bones the chef had been touching exploded, steam rushing out and filling the area. There was a shrill hissing screaming, like a boiling teapot, and the cursed flames of the other pyres quickly died out. With them the Skeleton Lords collapsed as well, no longer sustained by the magic. Even the minor skeletons fighting Lucatiel dropped dead again, and souls flooded into the victorious pair.

"Well done, Erik," Lucatiel praised, kicking the skull of a nearby fallen lord, sending it and its crown skittering across the floor.

"That… was…" Erik gasped. His whole body felt cold and numb from overusing his Pyromancy to such a degree. He looked down at his palm and flinched at what he saw. The Fire Seed was visible due to the flesh of his hand having been burned away to the bone, the enchanted item suspended by nerves of glowing red energy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. What flesh wasn't charred and black was covered in ice and looked frostbitten, giving his hand a very unique duel appearance of both burned beyond recognition and badly frozen like a slab of winter pork. Lucatiel winced in sympathy as she caught sight of the wound.

"That looks extremely bad. Does it hurt?"

"I don't think I have any working nerves with which to feel pain anymore, Luca," Erik joked, trying to alleviate the situation with her nickname. The knightess didn't buy it though and handed him her Estus Flask. He waved it away and took out his own. In the end it took the entire contents of both his Flask and Lucatiel's to undo the damage, and even then his hand remained numb, as if it had fallen asleep and was trying to wake up but all he got was a sensation of pins-and-needles.

During the Estus chug-fest, a black and red soul had materialized, and Erik took it, watching as the visions of the previous owners filled him.

The chef appeared in a room, filled with expensive looking art and made out of finely carved granite and local stone. It took a moment for Erik to realize that this was in fact the room he was currently standing in, just free of unholy pyres and bones. Three men stood inside, each one wearing black and gold robes of a high ranked official. The emblem of the Old Iron King was stitched upon the back, and they were conversing with each other in worried tones.

"…Alken has fallen! The Iron Citadel has been swallowed by the earth and even now lava spews forth, incinerating the land!" The one who spoke had long black hair and clutched an ornate spear tightly, as if afraid to let go.

"What of the king, or the queen? How about the prince? Where are they?" A magister with blond hair and an elegant scythe demanded, and the spearman shook his head.

"The king was last seen combating a demon of some sort that rose from the lava, but after killing it he began screaming and melting! The queen remains locked away in her fortified manor near the Harvest Valley. We are unsure if she is even aware of what is going on, or if she cares."

"The harlot is barely a noble, let alone a queen. All she cares about is her own vanity," the scythe carrying man spat in disgust. "It is the prince we should be concerned with. Where is he?"

"Gone! I know not where he fled, but he escaped the Bell Tower with the aid of that damned Berserker! I fear he has gone to rescue his love the princess of Venn from the Lost Bastille and make a life away from here. He never was one for ruling," The spearman said in annoyance, and the other two men grunt in agreement.

"…What do we do now? Alken is crumbling around us, and you can bet your boots Vendrick will seize this opportunity to invade. Should we swear fealty to him when he comes?"

"No. We shall not." The spear and scythe wielders turned to the third member, a wizened old man with white hair and a sorcerer's staff. "We shall fortify this area, and cut ourselves off from the other kingdoms. Form an enclave of our own and rule it ourselves. Vendrick's time is drawing to an end as we speak. First Eleum Loyce, now Alken… Drangleic will be the next to fall, and we shall be prepared for that."

"We do not have the man power to do so! The Jailors and Executioners are good at hunting Undead, not fighting off trained soldiers. How can we maintain our power?" The spearman asked, worried yet intrigued, an expression of greed appearing in his eyes, much like with the scythe wielder.

"We shall turn to Nahr Alma." The sorcerers declaration was not met with shouts of outrage as would be expected, but contemplation.

"That might work… if we give his disciples in the Brotherhood some land and the right to hunt within certain limits they could be a powerful ally… the coliseum would make a good offering…" mused the scythe carrying man.

"Nahr Alma and the Brotherhood will want sacrifices… and how can we ensure they do not turn on us?" The spearman inquired, and the sorcerer's eyes twinkled with dark mirth.

"Allow me to tell you of a spell I recently obtained from Heretic Navlaan…"

The vision dissipated, and Erik was back in the present, shaking off the effect of the soul.

"Anything interesting?" Lucatiel asked, and Erik nodded.

"The skeletons we just defeated were officials in Alken. I think they fled here after the fall of the kingdom and set up their own little territory. They were also working with the Brotherhood of Blood. I also found their base. It is the coliseum up on the other side of the valley we crossed."

Lucatiel gasped and grabbed the chef by the shoulders.

"That is valuable information! The Blue Sentinels have been searching for their main site of operations for a while, and with this we can let them know where it is! We can help end the Brotherhood's reign of terror!"

"I know! We'll tell them as soon as we can. We should finish this quest first though." Erik saw the questioning look in Lucatiel's eyes, and he explained.

"Targey and the rest will want to assault their fortress as soon as they get the information, and I'll bet they'll want us to join them for it. I'd feel better completing this current task though. Besides, we can teleport with the bonfires now. That way we can be inform them as soon as possible."

The knightess looked hesitant, but reluctantly nodded. It was her master's choice, after all, and she'd sworn to follow him and all of his decisions. He wasn't running away, either, just concerned with finding the next powerful soul that called to him.

"Then let's hurry. We can reach the Harvest Valley through this place, I'm sure of it," Lucatiel said, and the pair moved on to the next area.


	17. Chapter 17: Stone Maiden and the Slug

_**Chapter 17: Stone Maiden and the Slug**_

The entrance to the Harvest Valley from the Huntsman's Copse and the Skeleton Lords' hovel was a very long and large mechanical bridge that spanned a deep, seemingly bottomless ravine and which had been raised at some point so no one on the other side could cross without permission. It took some time for it to lower so Erik and Lucatiel could cross, and once they did they saw that the operating lever on the opposite side had been damaged so only the people from the woods could operate it and allow travel.

An hour of walking later, and the pair emerged from the rocky tunnel that cut through the mountains into a gaseous location, where a veritable wall of rotten eggs and boiled cabbage assailed their nostrils. Erik gagged and coughed, while Lucatiel's ingrained training allowed her to show her displeasure with just a twisted grimace and scrunched up nose. Without her mask, the stench was much worse.

The Harvest Valley had once been the breadbasket of Drangleic, where everything from grains to fruits and vegetables of all sorts had been grown. Commoners fare like wheat and turnips were grown alongside exotic sugarcane and lemons from Lanafir, and it made the people's stomach full and happy. That is, until massive deposits of coal, iron, gold, and countless other valuable minerals were discovered. The whole landscape was torn up by the greedy Iron King who used the materials he obtained to wage war and utterly crush Alken's long standing rival, Venn.

Ever since then, the place had become a smog choked wasteland, with rivers of poison running alongside barren hills and empty mines. The fumes from the smelting furnaces blackened the sky with smoke and fumes, while the impurities were thrown away together to become bubbling heaps of toxic waste. In a decade the valley was irrevocably twisted. Nothing could grow there, nothing could live there. The miners and factory workers died quickly and soon most of the workforce was replaced with slaves and criminals as few sane peasants wanted to work in such vile conditions for so little pay. Only the magistrates and overseers profited as they pinched coins here and there.

At the far end of the Harvest Valley were the Earthen Peaks, the second mountain range in Alken and the one that separated the Iron Citadel from the rest of the world. They loomed, wreathed in smoke, and rumors said they had once been a string of volcanoes long ago.

Nestled into the side of the Earthen Peaks was Erik's destination; a large fortress that both loomed over the valley as it protected the resources within and guarded the only main road to the Iron Citadel. Erik could feel the pull in his soul urging him onwards and he obliged, eager to find out the truth behind this call.

"We'll need to be careful. These gasses are extremely toxic, as well as flammable. I don't think I should use my Pyromancy around here unless we want repeats of the black powder in the Lost Bastille," Erik stated, handing over a handful of Poison Moss clumps. "These should keep us from dying due to the poison, but be careful all the same. Eat too much of the moss and you'll get stomach cramps and nausea, plus some loose, um, bowel movements."

Lucatiel gratefully accepted both the plants and the warning, looking out over the blasted wasteland.

"If we want to avoid the worst of the vapors, we should stay on high ground and avoid entering the lower regions as much as possible. The fumes seems to be content to stick to the ground for now," the knightess observed, and Erik agreed with the assessment. They quickly moved on, wrapping some cloth around their nostrils and mouth to mitigate some of the reek.

A bonfire was soon encountered, tucked away in a tiny cave, though it was surrounded by a pool of noisome fluids. Erik had an idea to make a miniature bridge to cross, and the two were soon smashing boxes and crates and using the wooden planks to create a simple crossing. Safe from the liquids of death, they relaxed at the bonfire and eagerly refilled their Estus Flasks. As they rested Erik moaned in joy as his left hand started to come back to life again, the mystical flames eating away at the numbness which had lingered in his limb.

Rested and restored, the two Undead travelers packed their bags and made their way up several rocky inclines and a sloping hill to overlook the vast greenish-grey expanse of the Harvest Valley. It was breath-taking, both due to the sheer scale of the industry that could still be seen manned by Hollows, and thanks to the obnoxious fumes. Of course, there was something else that caught the pair's attention as they walked across the area.

A tall and thin woman sat on a large boulder, idly kicking her legs in a childish and playful manner. She had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wore a faded but still intact black gown that seemed a tad too short and tight for her. What stuck out the most though was her extremely ample bosom. It was practically overflowing from her dress, and both Undead travelers could not help but stare at it. Erik was almost drooling from his brain shorting out, and even Lucatiel who was straight as an arrow found herself wishing to hold those massive breasts in her hands. With a force of will beyond mere men the swordswoman of Mirrah shook her head and broke the cleavage's spell.

The chef was finally knocked out of his reverie by a sharp smack upside his head courtesy of the knightess. He turned scarlet with embarrassment. He spared a second glance at the woman, whom he now saw was playing with a skeletal foot, and made an educated guess that this was Lenigrast's daughter. She certainly fit the description the blacksmith had given the chef, and now the green skinned man's words about recognizing her on sight made sense.

"Um, excuse me, miss?" Erik asked, stepping forward. The woman looked up in surprise before smiling kindly at the duo.

"Are you travelers? I am Chloanne, an orestone trader. I travel about collecting rare stones, which I sell to make my living. I never planned to visit this gods-forsaken place. But I don't know… I just sort of ended up here. I must've just wandered in… Heh… But, now that I'm here, I've been scouting around for rare bits." Chloanne was a bubbly and cheerful young woman, and clearly a bit of an airhead. Or nearly Hollowed. It was hard to tell with some people. Erik frowned but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. The ore merchant frowned in response to the chef's frown, misinterpreting it.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! Many of these stones are quite useful. For instance, certain stones are used in smithing. Ahh, now your ears prick up! Heh. I've extras, if you can pay. This is my trade, after all!"

"I see, very useful," Erik said diplomatically, earning himself a grin from Chloanne and a frown from Lucatiel. Something was bugging the knightess, and she wasn't sure what it was. It only surfaced when she saw the ditz flash those wide, innocent smiles at Erik that made him blush unconsciously. What on Drangleic was wrong with her?

"Anyways, Miss Chloanne, your father asked me to find you," Erik said, stating the wish of Majula's resident smith. The merchant blinked slowly, as if confused.

"My father? But he is back in Volgen, tending the forge… he is not Cursed… why would he follow me here…?"

"I'm not sure how long you've been here, Miss, but Mr. Lenigrast is indeed an Undead now, and waiting for you in Majula. He's even taken over the small smithy there, fixing the equipment of passersby," Lucatiel said, speaking up. Chloanne began to panic, and she rose to feet and started muttering to herself.

"No, no, no! This can't be! But, why… and if so… does that mean…"

"Miss Chloanne, everything is fine. He's just worried about you!" Erik assured her hastily but was forced to take several steps back as the young merchant whirled to face him.

"No! It is not fine! He always does this! Always! I want to have fun, but he says I cannot and keeps me inside, 'where it is safe!' I want to study in Melfia and learn more about Titanite but he prevents me from going, saying my place is at his side!" She stamped her foot, acting like a petulant child. "Every time I try and do something, father stops me! 'It's too dangerous,' or 'it's not work fit for a woman!' He drives me mad! I thought I was finally free of him and his overprotectiveness when I became Undead and traveled to Drangleic, and now I find out the gods have seen fit to torment me further by Cursing him as well?!"

The next things out of Chloanne's mouth were a foul tirade of swears and curses that would make even the saltiest sailor nod in approval, and made Erik and Lucatiel pale in shock. Well. She certainly had some… issues…

"Huh." That was all Erik could say. He gave a pleading look at Lucatiel but she just shrugged. Her own father had been fairly open and approving of her decision to become a knight. Of course, that was because of the money and prestige, but still.

"Uh, well, you know how the bonfires can teleport a person, correct?" the Chef inquired, and she paused in her rant to nod her head. "Well, why not just pop back to Majula for a bit, say hello to Lenigrast, and then leave again? Nothing could stop you then."

"I suppose that is true," Chloanne murmured, thinking it over. But she shook her head, dismissing the idea. "No, that won't work. He'll demand I stay, we'll argue for a bit, and then I'll give in, like I always do. Instead, I'll just stay away for now and return when I feel like it."

"Uh…" This was not going the way Erik had thought it would.

"In fact, why don't I travel with you two? We can explore the Valley and beyond, and you'll technically have completed father's request; you found me and asked me to return. And I said no. So there! A wonderful compromise!"

"Not for your father," Lucatiel said, and added "or for us," under her breath.

"As… interesting an idea as that is, can you defend yourself? Lucatiel and I are heading into a very dangerous place in search of an as of yet unknown foe and soul. It will be perilous and…"

Erik never managed to finish his argument, as he suddenly found himself flipped onto his back with a Work Hook pressed against his throat and Chloanne's foot on his solar plexus.

"I'm not a damsel in distress, sir. How do you think I made it this far?" The stone trader asked, a polite smile still on her face as she stood over the chef. Next to her Lucatiel had reacted instantly to the sudden movement, and had brought her sword down to rest on the young woman's nape. The knightess had paused and stopped her swing because Chloanne had a throwing knife in her left hand pointing at her underarm, poised to strike if the swordswoman completed her attack.

"Point made," Erik wheezed, a hint of fear in his eyes that was overshadowed by respect and awe. Emotions previously reserved for Lucatiel, which made the knightess grit her teeth in annoyance when she noticed.

Chloanne stepped back and helped the young cook back to his feet, and the group of Undead put their weapons away.

"Well, if you insist on joining us, I suppose you can," Erik conceded, and the world was lit up by the ore trader's radiant smile.

"Oh, thank you so much!" Chloanne squealed in joy, grabbing the chef and dragging him into a crushing hug. She was a lot stronger than she looked, as well as taller than the young Lindelt native, and was smooshed unceremoniously into her cleavage. Lucatiel just stood there, grinding her teeth at the sight, before glaring at Erik once he freed himself.

"*Gasp!* Ok! So… we want to head through the Earthen Peaks and reach the Iron Citadel that lies beyond. You've been here for a while. Any ideas on how to do so?"

"Well, we want to go through the fortress. It's the only way to the other side. I've checked. All the other roads and passes through the mountains have been sealed. Some intentionally, others by natural causes. But as I've explored, I found a fairly short and safe way through this quagmire. There's even a bonfire along the way. Follow me!" Chloanne smiled and spun about, leading her new friends deep into the remains of the Harvest Valley.

To Erik and Lucatiel's pleasant surprise, Chloanne's path was indeed fast and relatively safe, with some interesting loot scattered about. The only true threats that they encountered were the twisted Overseers, demented Hollowed task masters who rode atop the shoulders of mutated and tamed Ogres and fired bolts of dark magic at the travelers. They were slow though, and without the rider to direct the Ogre the beast just stood about gormlessly and were no danger unless attacked. So sniping the Hollows became the standard, and the chef and knightess quickly found that the young ore trader had unerring aim with her throwing knives.

She was also a font of interesting trivia about the local conditions, ore deposits, and rock formations. She was upbeat and always smiling, happy to chat with both Erik and Lucatiel about whatever caught their fancy. Lucatiel found herself slowly coming to like the young woman. Even her air headedness had faded somewhat. The knightess assumed it was because the thought that her father had tracked her down had galvanized her, giving her a purpose again.

That was something the swordswoman understood. Without hope or purpose the threat of Hollowing loomed much closer and came faster for the Undead without either. She was glad Erik had come when he had and convinced her to join him. She knew after traveling with the chef that she'd never had made it this far in her right mind without some form of help. Swearing herself to his service had saved her as well as helped the cook. Her musing was interrupted by Chloanne speaking excitedly as she pointed at something in the distance.

"Over there, do you see? That's the Governor's Manor! He ruled over the Valley, and his home is attached to the Earthen Peak Fortress! There should be a way to reach the Steel Road in there!" The ore trader explained, and the two other Undead looked at what she'd pointed out.

It was a large, blocky building that incorporated several smelting and refining apparatus on the front. It was made of pale yellow and grey stone like much of the other buildings but was clearly well made despite the cheap materials. The bull's head was stamped over the door frame, showing off the previous ownership.

"What can we expect inside?" Lucatiel asked, glancing down at the milling Overseers. They were deep in a ditch, and likely wouldn't give chase. A set of wooden planks acted as an improvised bridge over the gap, though further off a dirt path looped around. What were a possible problem were the shambling Steelworkers, green skinned Undead who clutched massive forging hammers. Some were wandering around the outside, and there were likely more inside. They reminded Erik and Lucatiel of Lenigrast, though these were clearly fully Hollowed. They'd encountered some on the way, and were slow but packed a mean punch. One blow was enough to lift Erik clean off his feet and throw him back quite a ways while also shattering his ribs with the force of the attack. They took them down from a distance after that.

"Not much in the way of enemies. Some Steelworkers and Poison Horn Beetles. There is a Fog Gate though at the end. From the layout of the building whatever is beyond should have a path to the fortress and the road," Chloanne said pensively, stroking her chin.

"Lead on, then," Erik said, and the ore trader obliged. The Hollowed smiths were cut down as they advanced, while Erik was almost giddy with joy when he saw the large, green and brown armored beetles.

"Lucatiel, Chloanne, can you avoid damaging the beetle's horn-like protrusion?" Erik asked, a pleading look in his eyes. The two women nodded, unable to resist the puppy stare, and they took care to only damage the lower bodies of the insects. Once finished, Erik removed his Titanite knife and sawed the lumpy carapace open, scooping out the goopy purple innards into some portable clay pots he scrounged up. The smell was awful, but exposure to the smoggy exterior had numbed their noses.

"What use is there for that stuff?" Lucatiel asked. Surprisingly it was Chloanne who answered.

"Oh, I know this! I once had some Jugonan cuisine, and they used this in it! The Poison Horn Beetle's insides are bitter and also used to make antidotes for various poisons! They mix it in with spices and rice and make something called 'curry.' It was really good! Can you make it?"

"I can indeed. In fact, I already have. I made a large amount for the members of the Twin Azure Orders back in Heide as thanks for letting me through. They didn't have any good quality Beetle meat though, so I had to make do with what they had," Erik said, separating the edible goo from the not-edible. "Furthermore, the more poison in the area, the more tender the meat, since these things thrive on waste and toxins. They mostly dwell in Jugo's deep caves where toxic fumes gather. I'm not surprised to find them here. This place is likely a feast to them."

Finished with gathering the Beetle's parts, the group advanced to the fog gate.

"Did you see what is waiting for us here?" Erik inquired, and Chloanne nodded.

"Yes, I did. It was some sort of giant slug monster. I did not get a good look before it pounded me to mulch, but it had a human-like face and hands. I-I think it may have been a Demon."

Erik gulped down old ingrained fears and Lucatiel gripped her sword harder. When men or women became enticed by Chaos, their bodies mutated and devolved to resemble their innermost sins. The oldest Demons had been around since the birth of Chaos, but new ones could be born at times. All Demons shared a common characteristic; humanoid features. This is what led to the Gyrm being driven out as abominations, and Ogres were considered to be a race of Demonic descendants.

True Demons were a threat, and even one was enough to force an entire Subjugation Squad from Lindelt or a Mirrahian Knight Battalion to mobilize to deal with it. Would it be enough with just three of them?

Still, they had to try, and Erik pressed his hands on the mist, and was drawn in. He stepped out in a circular room, a broken staircase to the right and spikes and jugs of toxic filth lining the walls. From the ceiling hung half a dozen large pots in which Hollows were stored, their moans and heads the only noticeable features.

Dominating the center of the room was a repulsive monster. Piss yellow flesh that looked wet with slime with a slug-like body. Worst of all were the face and arms; clearly once human, but the Chaos had twisted them into mockeries of what they had once been. The hands were claw-like and yet pudgy. The head was the worst. The ears had sunk into the sides of the head leaving two tiny holes, with tiny beady eyes glaring with malevolent hunger at the world. The mouth was nothing more than a wide gash, lipless and filled with fangs and drool.

The Demon's gaze locked onto Erik, and then Lucatiel and Chloanne as they stepped through. It gave a spittle spewing roar and charged.

 _New prey! New prey! Food food food_! These thoughts slammed into the trio, driving them back in surprise as they scattered and took up their weapons. It telepathically howled at them, and the terrible thoughts it was always thinking were broadcasted to the whole word.

"Lucatiel, go around to the side and hack it apart! Chloanne, distract it with knives so Lucatiel does not get hurt. As for me, I'll throw fire at it, and hopefully together we can do enough damage to kill it for a while," Erik ordered, and the group split up.

A Demon could die. But it was like an Undead in that it could revive given enough time. Unless the soul was sealed away, a Demon would end up clawing its way back to life, then consume and destroy all in its path. Erik was not sure what would happen if he absorbed the soul of this slug demon, but maybe his unique condition would keep the monster from respawning. He could only hope.

The battle was difficult. The slug-like flesh was thick and rubbery, and absorbed the blows from Lucatiel without much trouble, only carving out small chunks with each slice. The throwing knives from Chloanne bounced off for the most part, which made her shift to using special Lacerating Knives that dug in deeper and did more damage, as well as Poisoned Knives that delivered a dose of potent poisons that just made it thrash around as the flesh itched. Out of all of the damage dealt only Erik's Pyromancy seemed to do any lasting damage, yellowed flesh blackening and bubbling under the heat. The worst threat the three Undead adventurers face was the fact that for each blow that did lots of damage, the wound spurted out gobs of burning ichor similar to how the Lost Sinner's blood had reacted.

In response to these attacks the slug monster flopped around, lashed with its tail, rolled around trying to squash them, and even heading butting the area in front of them. Suddenly, the Covetous Demon reared back and belly-slammed onto the ground, sending tremors through the floor. The Hollows began to screech with fear in their hanging containers, and Erik had a brilliant yet morbid thought.

"Chloanne, try and knock one of those pots down! The Hollow might distract the Demon and give us a few free hits!"

Chloanne nodded, her expression sour but understanding. They were too far gone now, and at least they could serve a purpose one last time. A well placed knife severed the chain on one and soon the jar smashed open and a skinny, naked Hollow tumbled out. Immediately the gimlet eyes of the Demon landed on the defenseless Undead and it lunged, swallowing it whole. The Covetous Demon didn't even chew and it grunted in pleasure.

This let Erik toss a small bag to Lucatiel, who took it in surprise. Her eyes widened as she unwrapped the tool, and then a smirk spread across her face. She hastily wiped the cloth along the edge of her sword, and soon the faint crackle of thunder filled the stone room. She then plunged her glowing yellow sword into the Demon's side and an ear splitting scream shook the Undead.

Arch Pine Resin, a rare substance harvested from Arch-trees and imbued with the powers of an element. In Gold Pine Resin's case, it was the power of Lightning, considered by many the strongest element, and a holy one. It burned away the scales and flesh of the Dragon races, it seared the souls of Demons, and it could easily incapacitate or kill a mere human.

With her sword filled with Holy magic, Lucatiel's attacks dealt even more damage to the Covetous Demon and its roars became filled with rage and pain. With Erik's flames added to the equation, and the Demon's slow and easy to avoid movements, the fight was fairly lopsided in favor of the three heroes.

"It looks tired! Let's finish this!" Erik cried, tossing a Fireball into its gaping maw. The resulting explosion knocked some of its teeth out, but they regrew almost instantly, like a shark. Still, the flames did damage, and it was only a matter of time before it fell.

The chef from Lindelt was pleasantly surprised. This monster was strong, but it was slow and had few attacks. Each of the Undead had taken glancing blows during the fight, but some Estus fixed the damage quickly. For the most part this Demon was a joke.

Lucatiel ran up to the Covetous Demon and slashed away, before it tried to roll onto her. Unfortunately for it, that was what the swordswoman was waiting for. She held her great sword out and pointed it at the head. As the blubbery beast tried to squash the woman beneath its bulk, the sharp, Lightning charged sword jammed itself into its skull and brain, and the Demon shrieked in agony. The knightess drove the blade even deeper, and soon it gave a gurgling cry, burning ichor spurted from the wound and dribbled out its mouth, before it gave a keening wail and collapsed, turning into motes of reddish brown light that scattered into nothingness.

Streams of white souls filled the three, and they sighed. Moments later a large, flickering red and black soul appeared before Erik, to the surprised gasp of Chloanne. Erik tentatively accepted it, and was drawn into its past.

Pain. That was what filled Erik's mind. It was both the pain of ravenous hunger, and unrequited love. A young man, skinny and bald and wearing black and gold magistrate robes, bowing as a royal convey appeared, carrying the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Dark chocolate colored skin, raven black hair, lips red as rubies, eyes gold and fierce. The sight of her made his soul tremble. She passed by, and he thought he'd never see her again.

A meeting. A tall man with iron grey hair and massive beard stared down at the slightly older man, who proudly showed off the results of the recently opened mines. A glance at the womon from before who currently stood beside the mighty lord of Alken, now wearing a crown and wedding ring that matched the Old Iron King's.

Tears. The queen confided in the magistrate, still bald and now slightly older though the young royal remained unchanged. Lack of attention from her husband. A secret mistress. Obsession with destroying Venn and punishing her step-son for his love. He wanted to comfort her. He dared not, and instead offered the queen some dark brown sweets. She smiled as she accepted.

Lust. He saw the queen more often now. Never alone, always accompanied by her red hooded handmaidens. He wanted her. He resisted. The finest meals and foods filled the void, and pleased the queen. She became enamored with a traveling chef. The bald magistrate gritted his teeth at the sight of a young chef who smiled and offered otherworldly sweets and treats to an adoring queen.

Disgust. The queen had withdrawn to her inner chambers in the Earthen Peak Fortress after a fight with the Old Iron King. He longed to hold her, but he resisted. He bought exotic foods and ingredients to try and cheer up the queen. She threw his kindness back at his feet.

Hunger. He ate. And ate. Alken fell, the earth turning molten and swallowing the king and his castle. The Curse ran rampant through the workers and citizens, and countless people fled. But the magistrate remained by his queen's side. Though she stayed locked away, he watched over her.

Pain. What was the purpose for all this food? The slaves and Hollows brought it to him constantly. It filled the void that had formed, gnawing into his very existence. An itching filled his mouth, and he spat out a tooth. It was sharp. He did not remember having such jagged fangs. He frowned, and reached out, absent mindedly grabbing a slave and popping it into his mouth. He savored the rich flavor of its flesh and blood. He paused. Since when had he eaten others? He shrugged. The worm in his dreams told him that all would be fine. The Chaos was coming, and so was the Dark. The gods would crumble and the current Age of Fire would be snuffed out…

Erik screamed as his mind was suddenly filled with visions of a lake of fire, while on its shores twisted shadows cavorted and played, with humans writhing in suffering in the lava and the darkness. And in the center of the fiery lake, half submerged in the molten rock and draped in shadows a twisted being sat, trapped in a cage of gnarled, petrified roots. The cage itself seemed to sprouted from the creatures body, trapping it in a prison made of its own Chaos-tainted bones. All that was left of it was two glowing eyes: one golden-brown, the other blue and purple. It raised a gnarled finger to a mouthless face in a mocking "shhh" gesture, before everything went white. The chef staggered back, gasping for air as the vision broke.

"Are you alright?! What did you see?" Lucatiel asked, hurrying to his side, Chloanne hot on her heels.

"Chaos… Darkness… and… someone watching me," Erik wheezed.

"What in the gods' name was that?!" Chloanne demanded, looking from Erik to Lucatiel and then back to the chef, hands on her hips. The Undead from Lindelt sighed.

"It's a long story. Let me explain while we loot the place."


	18. Chapter 18: Loot and a Familiar Face

_**Chapter 18: Loot and a Familiar Face**_

"So, you're able to see visions of the soul's past?" Chloanne asked, trying to clarify all she'd been told by her two new friends. The group of Undead, after slaying the demon, had wandered around the room. The stairs, though broken, were easily clambered up, and the treasure room they found was impressive.

"Yes. And it seems the more divorced from humans they are, they less I am able to see. Coherently at least. When I took the soul of a Giant, all I got were emotions and vague desires. The Hollowed foes are disjointed, and the Demon was… odd to say the least. I saw its memories as if I was the demon, rather than as a bystander like before. Strangely enough the clearest vision I've had so far came from a trio of metal Automata who were made with the souls of criminals. Not sure why." Erik sorted through vast piles of gold coins and jewelry as he explained, looking for anything useful like Magic Rings or enchanted weapons and armor. Lucatiel did the same, examining the various weapons here and there. An elegant straight sword, made in Heide if the faint lightning enchantment in the blade was any indication, was given to the chef to wield, as a dagger was fairly useless at this point.

"And you can feel something pulling you towards it? Or at least sense where it is?" the ore trader asked as she slipped bars of rare and precious metals and chunks of altered Titanite into her bag.

"Yup. Don't know why, but I think the Emerald Herald knows more than she lets on," Erik mused, inspecting a large wooden chest with hinges and lock made of gold.

"Who?"

"The woman who tends the bonfire in Majula," Lucatiel said to Chloanne's inquiry.

"Oh."

"Anyways, after I find this next soul or whatever it is that draws me forth, I'm going to ask her some very pointed questions," Erik stated. His pensive frown broke into a wide grin as he got the fancy chest open and stared at its bounty.

"Everyone! I just found a Bottomless Box!" Erik cried in joy, and the others looked over in interest. A treasure like that could help them carry all sorts of items!

"What is it holding already?" Lucatiel inquired, noticing Erik's smile.

"Food!" He exclaimed, showing them… bags of brown beans and nuts?

"Pardon?" Lucatiel asked, tilting her head in confusion, an action mimicked by Chloanne.

"Coffee beans! Cocoa beans! Sacks of sugarcane! Bottles of wine and brandy! Slabs of marbled meat and bags overflowing with produce!" The chef said giddily, sorting through the various foods and ingredients.

"How could it survive all this time without going bad?" Chloanne asked, peering at the items Erik was eagerly examining.

"Some Bottomless Boxes are enchanted to preserve what it is inside them. It's extremely expensive! This box alone is worth at least a villa, maybe a castle! And that's not even taking into account the food!" Erik exclaimed. "Everything in here is both rare and worth lots of money. Coffee can only be grown in Jugo, and Cocoa can only be grown in Lanafir! This bottle of 555 Dragonstar Brandy is priceless! Only a hundred bottles were ever made! Even House Osteria only has two! And this meat right here is Wyvern flank!"

"That Demon did seem the glutton, and you mentioned how he ate to repress his desires for the Iron King's wife," Chloanne mused. "It makes sense he would only have the best to try and satisfy himself and woo his paramour."

"Will the magic hold fast?" Lucatiel asked to which Erik nodded in the affirmative.

"As long as we keep the amount of magical items inside to a minimum, the Box's enchantment should stay strong for a long time. They're built to last, after all."

"Good to know!" Chloanne said with a happy sigh as she plopped her sack of plundered ores into the chest, relieved she would not have to lug the heavy metals everywhere. Lucatiel chose to include a few pieces of armor and weapons from the pile to the chest but kept one sword strapped to her waist. It was a smaller straight sword, similar to Erik's new Heide Sword but slightly longer and with a bluish tinge. It was a Blue Flame Sword, a rare magically enchanted blade that could unleash bolts of pure Sorcery upon foes. With this, Lucatiel could now compensate for her previous lack of range.

As for Chloanne, she chose to select a straight sword coated in yellowish quartz as her new weapon. It was one of Alken's rare Yellow Quartz Longswords, a strange crystalline blade made by coating an ordinary steel sword in melted quartz, amber, and topaz to creating a slightly fragile blade that carried a much sharper edge than it seemed at first glance. Odd looking and coming with a matching small shield, the unusual weapon seemed to fit the ore trader well.

"This everything we want?" Erik asked. Nods were his reply and the Undead chef grunted a bit as he tied the box to his backpack and proceeded to carry both containers on his back.

"Do you want any help?" the chef's knightess inquired, but the young man was stubborn and shook his head.

"I can do this! I've carried crates and stuff before when I picked up the food orders for the kitchens. This is nothing," Erik assured her. Lucatiel just shrugged and shared a look with Chloanne. The ore trader nodded back. Boys!

"Alright! Onwards!" Erik proclaimed, and the trio of Undead started off to the depths of the Earthen Peak and its fortress.

Almost immediately the group ran into a bonfire, sitting just a ways in past the room the Covetous Demon had blocked off. It was a welcome sight and they warmed their souls at it, fortified for the journey ahead.

And again, almost immediately, the trio was accosted by Hollows and Erik learned a valuable lesson; don't stand around and get shot with arrows! He thought he'd learned that lesson back at the ruined castle, but no it seemed he had forgotten. They had traveled up some stairs, smashing aside Hollows and the occasional Steelworker when they came to a long bridge suspended over clanking gears and automated ore grinders, guarded by a lone Undead of a new variety. While the odd, grey skinned Hollow with polearm and shield confronted Lucatiel, some hidden snipers took pot shots at Erik and Chloanne who'd hung back. The very first arrow staggered the chef, and the new weight he was carrying threw him off. Literally. He plunged hundreds of feet down off the stone walkway into the mess of industrial equipment and died most gorily, spread across the pavement.

Erik shot upright at the bonfire, panting and embarrassed. He quickly hurried back and found all the Hollows taken care of.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to _drop_ by," Lucatiel said with a mocking grin, tossing the hideous Undead chef a Human Effigy to restore his visage.

"Don't be so _down_ , Erik, it happens to the best of us," Chloanne giggled, joining in on the teasing.

"Just be careful not to _fall_ for the same trick again, Erik," Lucatiel added.

"Oh, come on, it's all in good fun! Don't leave us _hanging_ ," the ore trader said with a stifled laugh when the two women saw the chef's pouting and unamused expression.

"Mark my words, you two, I will have my revenge for this humiliation. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday! Someday, you will rue the puns!" Erik cried, shaking his fist in mock anger at the ceiling. His companions laughed good naturedly, before the sounds of Undead starting to stir and revive made them leg it across the bridge to the other side.

"When you look at this place, it really strikes you just how advanced the previous Kingdoms were," Lucatiel murmured in appreciation, looking at the still whirring and working mechanisms of the modified factory-fortress. Chloanne nodded.

"A lot of Drangleic's industry and technology far surpasses the mainland's. For generations this land was the cultural, magical, and scientific center of the world! The Gods brought knowledge, the Kings brought prosperity… oh, to see this place as it once was," Chloanne sighed as she gazed at the surroundings. Erik could only agree.

So much had been lost in the five centuries or so since Drangleic and its mighty kings had fallen and the Curse of the Undead had run rampant across the world. The gods left this dying realm and settled across the Mainland, guarded by their faithful and isolated from the rest of the world by barriers both natural and magical.

But their power was waning. This was a rumor whispered only in secret amongst the citizens of Lindelt. Many of the Miracles were weakening, and the gods showed themselves less and less. The last time any had fully gone about in public view had been forty-some years ago, when they bestowed blessings upon the newest head of House Osteria. Some thought the end was soon, that even the gods would fall to the Curse. That sort of talk was heresy everywhere, not just in the religious kingdom of Lindelt, and Erik had seen more than a few executions for people accused of such slander before he'd fled his home.

All their melancholic musing was cut short by a loud click. Erik blinked and looked down and saw a tile depressed under his foot. He gulped down apprehension. He'd read enough adventure novels to know where this was going to go.

Three long sharp stakes were hurled out of the nearby wall and slammed into Erik's left side, tossing him dangerously close to the edge of the balcony.

"Erik!" the two cried. Lucatiel then drew her great sword as a headless doll leapt up and dashed over to the prone Undead. She growled in disgust and smacked away the grotesque soul-powered Manikin. Out of all the foes fought so far only these Headless Manikins were much challenge, and that was because they leapt and pranced and dodged all over the place. Add their poisoned short swords to the mix and these puppets were the main threat of the area.

"I've changed my mind. I hate these things more than I hate Undead Dogs," Lucatiel sneered, kicking the empty vessel over the edge. Erik nodded but stopped and grimaced in pain due to the metal rods poking through him. Chloanne wrenched them out of him and the chef chugged Estus until the gaping wounds closed.

"What are they, anyways?" Chloanne asked.

"Dunno. But the legends always said that the kingdom of Venn was adept at crafting golems and other sorts of automata. It seems that when the Old Iron King conquered them, he stole their knowledge," Erik guessed.

Several ladders, flights of stairs, and Hollows later they reached a bonfire that overlooked the entire factory-fortresses interior while also positioned to allow an impressive view over the remains of the Harvest Valley through a gap in a large windmill.

"Does anyone know why these messages are all saying to burn this thing?" Erik asked after a moment, pointing out the glowing orange Soapstone messages that were clustered around the windmill mechanism. His companions shrugged.

"It seems important though. If enough people advise us to do so, perhaps we should follow their words," Lucatiel said.

"I agree. But how would we go about doing so? It's made of metal and just burning the cloth won't stop the machine. We'd have to smash it completely," Chloanne pointed out. Erik stroked his chin in thought, before beaming as an idea lit up in his mind.

"What about melting it?" Erik asked, a sly grin on his face. The knightess smirked and Chloanne merely smiled. She'd been told about what he could do, but this would be the first time witnessing the melting powers of the chef.

Carefully, Erik inched his way up to the ledge that lead to the socket where the large windmill was connected to the rest of the building, and started to draw out the memories of heat in the well-made steel.

The Undead chef had found that his Pyromancy worked best on objects that had been forged with intense heat, and steel was definitely such a material. The 'memory' of the fires that had produced it were more vivid and pronounced, and it made it easier for the Fire Seed to latch onto it and draw it forth.

In mere seconds the steel glowed red, and soon after it softened and bent. Gravity and the sheer weight of the windmill blades took care of the rest. With a deafening shriek of tortured metal the entire face of the windmill tore off and plunged down into the poison shrouded abyss. A distant clang and thud reverberated through the Earthen Peaks, and a stream of souls rose up to Erik who had jumped back to safety as the construct had started to groan in distress.

"Neat," Erik mused, and he looked back to the two women who gave him a thumbs up.

Behind the Undead, inside the building, there was a hideous screeching din that shook their teeth and rattled their bones. The three rushed back to the bonfire to see what was happening, and they were impressed. That single large piece of the mechanism had supported a great deal of the inner workings, and without it everything started to fall apart. Chains snapped and spilled vats full of glowing green waste, gears popped off their bearings and tumbled down to the ground, and chunks of masonry and entire Hollows plunged down to the disaster zone that was the lower levels.

"Well. That went better than expected," Erik said, giving his friends a smile which they returned. The three Undead travelers were not vandals or people who brought about wonton destruction and collateral damage wherever they went. They were law abiding to the best of their abilities and did their best to keep the places they went intact and free of spontaneous wildfires. But there was something cathartic about trashing a place that had done its best to kill you and was filled with people you hate.

"Onwards?" Erik asked, and they nodded.

"Onwards!"

The trio moved on, finding the Hollows still unsteady and shocked after their home had nearly collapsed on them. Easy pickings. There was a new foe they soon encountered, however. Strange, red robed and hooded women with extremely negligible garments covering their curvy bodies. They hurled Fireballs and various Pyromancies at the Undead as they advanced.

"Let me guess: Desert Sorceresses?" Erik asked, ducking back behind a wall as fire exploded against the stone.

"Looks like it. I've never actually seen one myself, but I've heard that this is what their attire is like," Lucatiel said.

"I really like their clothes. Do you think they'd let me have some?" Chloanne wondered out of the blue. Her friends just stared at her, blinking in befuddlement. A pout spread across her lips.

"Oh, as if you've never wanted to wear pretty clothes before," She huffed.

"As a man, I can honestly say that has never crossed my mind. The closest to that desire would be donning a priest's robes, but that's it," Erik protested, but surprisingly Lucatiel was silent and looking away in shame. The chef ignored this potential character development to jump around the corner and fling a Throwing Knife into the attacking woman's chest. She collapsed with a shriek, and a cloud of souls told him she was down for now.

"Come on, let's move! I saw a gap below that gear thing we can squeeze through. Just have to deal with that silvery Hollow," Erik said, and the group rushed out, jumping down the shallow pit and taking apart the polearm wielding Undead.

What they found next was very unexpected. Or rather, _who_.

"My, my, what do we have here? Two familiar faces and a lovely new one! How have you been?" Leaning against the wall of a small square pit was none other than Mild Mannered Pate, who waved nonchalantly up at the gawking trio.

"How… what…" Erik was confused. How had this man made it so far? His equipment was rugged, certainly, but could it stand up to a Demon?

"Ah, curious as to how I got around that ugly slug below? It's quite simple, really. You see, as I was traveling and trying to access this place, I ran across an odd fellow. Gilligan, I believe he called himself, as well as a Laddersmith."

Chloanne stiffened when she heard the name, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the others. But Pate politely ignored her and kept talking.

"Never heard of a 'laddersmith' before, but he knew his stuff and made me some collapsible ladders. I just used those to climb over the walls and sneak my way inside. So far though the treasure haul has been disappointing. Maybe you'll have more luck. There's some nice items beyond that door, I can feel it!" Pate said, gazing at the locked stone door with longing.

"I see… well, don't let us keep you. We'll just… keep going," Erik said haltingly as he and the group backed out and headed down another path.

"I just…! I can't…!" Erik muttered, wringing his hands. Lucatiel patted his back in sympathy.

"I understand completely. Maybe we should think about alternative ways to get into places in the future. That might save us some time," the knightess consoled. To be honest, she was a bit jealous that the treasure hunter had had such a clever idea. She'd run into the wandering spearman in her travels through Heide. The man had been plundering some sunken ruins while avoiding the Blue Sentinels. He'd offered some useful advice, and informed her of a treasure pile some ways off. She'd tried to reach it but died a few times to the traps, and gave up, moving on the Dragonrider and the Wharf beyond. The bald man was nice but gave off a feeling of… sleaziness? She wasn't sure what it was, but she'd been on guard around him the first time they'd met, and now was no different. The swordswoman saw that Chloanne had similar feelings based on the scrunched up face she had. That Erik had not noticed this made them concerned.

Still, they team continued onward to whatever awaited them, armed and deadly and ready for trouble.


	19. Chapter 19: Green with Envy and Poison

_**Chapter 19: Green with Envy and Poison**_

Trouble had apparently been waiting for the three friends and wanted to introduce them to its friends. Several minor traps awaited them as they searched through the crumbling factory-fortress, as did numerous powerful Hollows. Most notable were several more Desert Sorceresses that confronted the traveling trio, their odd mirror-fans blasting Pyromancy at the Undead. They fell easily though without any armor to protect their vitals. Interestingly some wore strange blue and silver rings with a dragon branded upon the surface. Erik had never seen them before but scooped them up regardless as he could feel the magic in them. He'd see if Carhillion could identify them later.

Unbeknownst to the chef, the two women accompanying him would sneak over to the fallen Desert Sorceresses and remove articles of clothing from them behind his back. Undamaged ones of course but also only a single piece at a time so that stripping them would not make the exotic women completely naked when their previous owners revived.

It was a good thing Erik was fairly clueless and unobservant when it came to the actions of his companions. He just labeled their twitchy movements as 'womanly issues' and put it out of his mind. Out of all the non-cooking related things his father had taught him, the advice that women were strange, exotic beasts whose activities and mindset were best left a mystery had helped him a lot so far.

"I remember these women," Erik suddenly spoke up, snapping his fingers in realization. This earned him stares of semi-hostility from his two comrades-in-arms.

"How so?" Chloanne asked in a tone that could only be described as sickly-sweet.

"In the Demon's memories, I saw these women," Erik elaborated, unsure of why a shiver had run down his back. "They were accompanying the queen of Alken, and his memories referred to them as 'handmaidens.' I think whoever she was, the Old Iron King's second wife was from Jugo. All these Hollows on the upper levels are her servants!"

"And how does this help us, exactly?" Lucatiel asked, arms folded across her chest.

"I… that is a good question," Erik admitted with an embarrassed scratch of his neck. His companions simply face-palmed.

"I'm sorry! Sometimes when I see things related to the souls and their visions, I can't help but remember them in greater detail," Erik protested, which made his followers pause.

"You can still see the visions? At will, now?" The knightess inquired. The chef shrugged.

"Not really. Whenever I see a Desert Sorceress, the Covetous Demon's souls 'remembers' them, and I get flashes of information about what he – it – knew about them. When I use my Pyro- and Cryomancy I can sense the Lost Sinner's knowledge on the subject allowing me to control my powers. I can't actively dive into the souls to get more information. Or at least, I haven't tried to do so."

"Perhaps we should hold off on that experiment until later. Say, when we are not in hostile territory?" the ore trader suggested, and they nodded with gusto.

Traveling continued, and now the upper floors were patrolled entirely by the silvery Hollows and the ashen skinned mage-women. They worked in concert, attacking and utilizing their advantages against the intruders. But it was all for naught, as the Hollows fell to the blades and spells of the advancing and determined Undead.

On the way to the top, the trio ran into an elderly man with a tangled white beard and wild hair, carrying a long ladder. He started in surprise and tensed, but relaxed when he saw Chloanne with the group.

"Oh, lass! You're Lenigrast's daughter, aren't ya! It's been a while! It's me, Gilligan!"

"Hello," the ore trader said tersely, and he just chuckled awkwardly.

"Still a bit sore about that, um, incident I assume?"

"Yes," She said curtly, and the chef and knightess shared confused glances.

"Um, who is this?" Erik asked, and the old man laughed.

"I'm Gilligan the Laddersmith! I used to know Lil' Chloanne and her pops Lenigrast back in Volgen." He saw the anger in the young merchant's eyes and he sweat-dropped. "I think I'll be heading back to Majula now. Not much treasure out here, and I want to get to look over the plans I picked up for those moving platforms. I'll, uh, see you around."

With that the elderly Undead moved off, his steps hurried as Chloanne bored a hole in the back of his head with an angry stare.

"What on earth did that man do you piss you off so badly?" Lucatiel asked, surprised to see that the kind and ditzy young woman could actually feel anger like that.

"Gilligan is a con artist and crook,"Chloanne spat. "He makes ladders and ropes, but his true passion is getting other people to pay for his antics. He was chased out of Volgen three years before I became an Undead due to gambling debts, public disorder, and sleeping with the Captain of the Guard's wife."

"Sounds like a piece of work," Erik said, giving the area the man had passed through a scathing look that was mirrored by Lucatiel.

"One time, he tricked my father into buying a huge shipment of bad quality nails and assorted iron work, and then ran off with the money forcing us to pay back the debt he saddled us with! It took us months to sell off the crappy goods he foisted onto us!" Chloanne told her friends, retelling the misdeeds of that man. "I was hoping he'd died, but instead he became Undead. Just my luck to have two extremely bad memories follow me to this place."

"Well we don't have to worry about him again for a while. He's going away to Majula, and if we're lucky the people there will eventually tire of his antics," Erik said hopefully. Chloanne smiled, but it was half-hearted.

After leaving Gilligan behind several more hours passed and the group reached the top floor. A fog gate barred entry to whatever lay behind. According to the Demon's memories, this was where the Queen's chambers were. It seemed likely that she was behind there. The memories further warned about her skill with polearms, swords, and Sorcery. They cleared out the various Hollows and some Poison Horn Beetles in a hidden room, as well as confronting a Red Phantom that attacked with two massive sickles and their very first Mimic!

The Mimic was an unpleasant surprise, and it nearly bit Chloanne in half when she went to pop the lid. Only a quick Combustion from Erik saved her from being devoured as the Pyromancy seared its limbs and forced it to drop the young woman. The Undead attacked it vigorously, desperate to cut the monster to pieces. It gave a loud growl and tried to sweep aside its attackers with its unnaturally long arms, but that just gave Lucatiel a chance to hack them off. They were made of wood and demonic flesh, spewing black mist with every wound.

The Mimic finally collapsed after being chopped and burned to pieces, spilling a few items from its slack and ruptured wooden body. Most of it were Lifegems and some gold coins, but two artifacts in particular caught their attention. The first was a Work Hook like Chloanne used, but tainted by the poison of its surroundings, making any wound inflicted by it fester badly. The ore trader happily swapped her old one with it. The second was a pair of gauntlets made of black metal and bone that radiated Dark magic. Whatever had made them, it was unlikely they'd done so for a good purpose. Still, equipment was equipment, and if nothing else they could sell it to Maughlin.

Ragged and out of Estus, the trio was extremely happy to find a bonfire hiding up the stairs the Red Phantom had guarded. Perched above the entryway to the fog gate, it had a surprisingly good view of the devastation wrought by Erik. Chloanne's Mimic bites healed up quickly with the application of mystical fire, and the Undead chose to relax for a moment before heading down to their next fight.

"Are we ready to face whatever is down there?" Erik asked after a moment, and his companions nodded. Erik shrugged off his backpack and chest and left them leaning against the wall of the bonfire. He wasn't worried about the Hollows, as the bonfire's magic repelled those without humanity and minds, but he was worried about them being looted or stolen by another Undead.

Still, he did not want to be weighed down by the heavy Bottomless Box, and moved his most important items to the pouch around his waist and the pockets in his trousers.

"We're ready," Lucatiel confirmed, and Chloanne nodded in agreement. The three of them proceeded down to the lower level, stabbing the Hollows as they passed to keep them down for a bit longer. The passage way to the fog gate was down an extremely long and rough tunnel, and contrasted with the neat and professional job of the surrounding constructions.

"Here goes nothing!" Erik cried, and he slipped through the clammy mists to face the ruler of this area. His eyes widened as he saw what he was supposed to face.

Acid green scales slithered over a poison stained platform ringed by a shallow moat of oozing toxic waste. Golden jewelry, tarnished by the harmful liquids around the area, hung loosely around neck and wrists. A naked upper torso of a woman, covered in greenish skin, undulated seductively. A long, sturdy spear was held tightly in the right hand, while a decapitated woman's head was held aloft by her black hair in the left. Bile rose to his throat as he saw the stump still bled, and the head was still alive, golden reptilian eyes darting around before resting on the intruding chef and his companions. They widened as she stared as Erik, utterly ignoring the others. With the lower body of a snake and the mangled upper torso of an enchanting woman, the mistress of the Earthen Peaks loomed tall.

Before them was the second wife of the Old Iron King; Mytha the Beautiful, twisted and corrupted into a demonic form. Her transformation into a full Demon was not complete, perhaps because she was headless and Undead. Indeed, the Darksign burned brightly between her large and perky breasts. Erik did not have time to appreciate anything more than that as the queen let out a piercing scream as she hurled herself at the chef.

Screeching, she jabbed rapidly with her spear, forcing Erik to dodge. Summoning a Fireball he hurled it and watched in satisfaction as it burst over her flesh and ignited into a raging and spreading inferno! The poison that had been smeared into her skin over centuries was extremely potent, but also flammable. The Pyromancy's flames spread rapidly, and the demonic queen howled in pain before throwing herself into the shallow pool around the circular room. The liquid toxins smothered the flames, and to the Undead's dismay the burns were slowly healing as well.

"Keep her away from the poison!" Erik shouted as the snake-woman rose and hissed at the chef. Again she lunged, trying to crush and kill him, but the cook was nimble and he avoided her attacks.

Letting lose a frustrated scream, the headless body raised her own severed head, holding it aloft like a talisman or charm the ancient Clerics had used to cast their Miracles. To Erik's shock the head glowed bright blue before she spat out a ravening beam of pure Sorcery that gouged a deep hole in the ground and that clipped the Undead chef's left leg as he tried to dodge.

Agony poured into Erik's mind as the magic burned away his thigh almost completely, leaving behind bone and dangling muscles, his foot barely attached. Erik paled in fear. There was no way he could avoid her attacks now! He only hoped the pain would be over soon. As soon as he fell the queen crowed in triumph and slithered over rapidly, utterly ignoring the damage done by a desperate Lucatiel and Chloanne.

Mytha was upon him in minutes and she picked him up and shook the chef violently, dropping her spear in order to grab him.

"POOOTTTSSSS!" The twisted woman roared, right into Erik's ear, and he blinked in surprise. She… knew him?

"You! You did this to me!" She screamed, slamming the Undead into the floor before forcing him up to stare at her severed and still talking head. As the knightess and merchant ran over, she flicked her tail contemptuously and hurled the two women back, eyes still locked onto the cook.

"What…"

"See this?!" Mytha howled, before smashing Erik's face into her stomach. Now he was officially perplexed. "This is all your fault!"

"What, the snake stuff?! I didn't do that to you!" Erik protested.

"Don't lie, you know what you did!" Mytha threw Erik to the ground. She then used her free hand to grab her stomach, smooshing it around and gripping onto some flesh.

"Do you see this?! Fat! This is fat! You made me fat! This is all because of your food!"

Erik was starting to understand, and he raised a hand to forestall Lucatiel and Chloanne rushing to his rescue again.

"Your majesty, I think you are mistaken! I am not Donovan Potts!"

"Don't keep lying to me! I know it's you! I'd recognize that dreamy face and those rugged hands anywhere!"

Erik felt a shiver run up his spine at her words, and despite the danger the knightess and ore trader paused and shared a look.

"My name is Erik Potts of Lindelt, Queen Mytha! Donovan Potts was my ancestor about six hundred plus years ago!" The chef cried, trying to make her understand.

The fury in the queen's eyes dimmed slightly and she shoved her head closer to Erik and peered at him closely. Seconds trickled by in agonizing slowness and the suspense only grew. Mytha's eyes widened as she saw something in the young Undead.

"You… you're not him…" Her shoulders slumped and her whole body seemed to collapse under intense sorrow and weariness. "Six hundred years… has it really been that long?"

"I'm afraid so, your Majesty. And a lot has happened since then. Alken is gone, the Old Iron King is dead, Drangleic is withered and King Vendrick is vanished," Erik said softly, trying to keep his mind off the hole in his leg as he spoke. Lucatiel and Chloanne kept their weapons at the ready, but took on relaxed stances. It seemed this monster just wanted to talk.

"Castor is dead?" Mytha whispered, staring at Erik. "How did my husband die?"

"I do not know, exactly. From what I've gathered it appears that the volcano may have become active again and tainted by Chaos. Lava apparently swallowed the Iron Citadel and its surroundings and the king died fighting off a Demon." Erik's words were backed by the memories of the Skeleton Lords of the Huntsman's Copse, as one of the three had escaped the devastation to inform his co-conspirators.

Mytha stared at Erik for a long time before grunting in understanding. She waved her hand and the fog dissipated from the doors.

"Leave me. I wish to be alone in my grief," she commanded, and Lucatiel and Chloanne were happy to take her up on that offer.

"Are you sure?" Erik asked, hesitant to leave. It didn't feel right to him, leaving anyone alone to grieve.

"GO! I do not want your false sympathies and concern!" She ordered, glaring at the chef.

"I may not be Donovan Potts, but I am his descendant, and I am a chef following in his footsteps. He did something to you, and I want to apologize on his behalf," Erik said firmly.

The smack of two palms meeting faces echoed in the cavernous room. Lucatiel and Chloanne could not believe this! Was he really trying to make a demonic woman feel better about something his ancestor had done?!

The queen looked at Erik strangely, as if she couldn't figure him out. A thin smile graced her lips, and she sighed.

"Just like Donovan. Always butting in and trying to make people happy with food," She said with a faraway look to her eyes. She then turned her gaze to the prone chef. "What can you make?"

"What do you want?" Erik responded.

"…late." Her voice was low, and a she had a complicated look on her face.

"Pardon?"

"I want chocolate!" Mytha said, louder this time and with red on her cheeks. It made her face look sickly and purple, but Erik chose not to mention that. Instead he pulled out his ancestor's cookbook and leafed through the pages, before settling on a recipe.  
"You're in luck, we just happened to come across some cocoa beans. I'll be able to make something wonderful," Erik promised. He tried to stand but fell flat on his rear, having forgotten that his left foot was practically gone. Mytha had the decency to look sheepish and apologetic, and Lucatiel sighed.

"I'll grab your stuff, Erik. Just drink some Estus and wait for me." The knightess sheathed her blade and strode out of the room to fetch the Bottomless Box and pack full of cooking tools and ingredients.

Erik took her advice, draining his flask of the golden liquid flames and sighed in relief as his mangled leg was restored. As for Mytha, the serpent-queen reattached her head to her shoulders with a squelching sound that made the ore trader and chef slightly queasy. The Queen of Alken then proceeded to clap loudly, and to the Undead's shock numerous Headless Manikins appeared.

"These Undead here and the woman from Mirrah are not to be harmed! They are my guests! Spread the word! And bring me some chairs, tables, and a stove and oven! In fact just bring me the contents of my kitchen and set it up in here!" The queen commanded, her voice a powerful bellow that sent the automata scurrying off to complete her requests.

"You can order those things around?" Chloanne asked in surprise, before shrinking in on herself as the serpant-woman turned to look at her.

"This is Chloanne, an ore trader. She is very knowledgeable about stones, minerals, gems, and metals. She is one of my dear friends and valuable companions," Erik hastily introduced, hoping his endorsement would protect her. "And the knightess of Mirrah was Lucatiel, another close friend and longtime partner in my journey."

"Charmed to meet you," The queen said somewhat dismissively. She still looked at the woman as if examining her before offering an explanation.

"I do not know the secrets behind their creation, but Castor was always fascinated by both golems and the Undead. In his youth he plundered Heide for its ancient techniques of golem-crafting and stole knowledge from Venn to construct these servants. They will obey the voice of anyone registered as their master. They also recognize souls, and so attack those who they deem as a threat unless told otherwise. My husband and I could control them, along with Sir Alonne and maybe one or two others from time to time as needs arose. Castor's son was a genius you know. He made and designed these ones, as well as many others. Though after he was locked away I do not know if he made any more," Mytha said, flashes of melancholy assailing her as she remembered the past.

"Fascinating," Chloanne mumbled, when the clink and clatter of metal told them that Lucatiel was back with Erik's supplies.

"I assume her majesty has something to do with the headless dolls running around and not attacking me?" the knightess inquired, and everyone nodded in the affirmative.

"Glad to hear it. Nearly had a heart attack when some of them popped up nearby." She removed the box and pack and placed them before Erik, who smiled in thanks before rummaging around for ingredients.

"That's Chancellor Torvin's Bottomless Box!" Mytha shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the chef. "How dare you plunder my friend's belongings!"

"He's a Demon now, so it's not like he was using it," Erik retorted snidely, before paling as he saw Mytha lean in.

"What did you say?!"

"H-he turned into a large slug-like Demon! He was guarding the entrance to the rest of this place!" Erik explained quickly, and the queen stared long and hard at Erik. Her golden eyes shimmered with sparks of silver for a moment before she grimaced and pulled away.

"I see. I thought that soul you carried was familiar. But… to truly give in to Chaos? When did it happen?"

"I think he started changing after the fall of Alken," Erik guessed. The Covetous Demon's memories were foggy at best and determining an exact time for events in them wasn't possible.

"There was a large and sudden influx of Chaos energy, but I was… distracted at the time," Mytha said softly. "By the time I realized what was going on around me, I had become _this_!"

She gestured in disgust at her body, her tail lashing around angrily. The knightess and ore trader showed sympathetic expressions, and Erik's face twisted up in empathic pain.

"I'm sorry," Erik whispered softly. He looked up as loud banging and thumping started to echo around them, and he saw dozens of Headless Manikins swarming about, carrying chairs, a large table, and a portable oven and stove.

"Cook," Mytha demanded, though her tone was somewhat softer and kinder than before. Still forceful though, but not as bad.

As Erik pulled out the bits and pieces he would need, Mytha slithered over to her spot at the head of the table and beckoned for Lucatiel and Chloanne to join her.

"Come, sit and inform me of what has changed while I was not aware of it," she requested, and the two Undead filled her in as best they could, taking seats to the side of her.

The time passed by quickly as the women went from talking about world history and politics to stories about their lives and jobs. All the while Erik cooked, managing the various ingredients necessary for one of the finest dishes he could create!

"I hope I am not being rude, your Majesty, but what exactly did Donovan Potts do that made you so mad?" Chloanne asked after a moment, and Mytha tensed up before sighing.

"To be honest, it is very petty. And to understand it you'll need some history to fully get the context."

The snake-woman leaned back, resting on her coils as she gathered her thoughts.

"To start with, allow me to fully introduce myself. I am Mytha Shevara Nolmestris Helanvi, eldest child of King Radavire II and crown princess of Jugo." The three Undead listened with awe. Story time was best time!

"I was born a few years before the Giants invaded Drangleic, and was seventeen when the war ended. My father had fought beside the armies of the Old Iron King and earned his approval. In a bid for favors and power, my father offered me as a bride to Castor, and the lord of Alken accepted despite being over three times my age." Mytha paused, looking over her audience. "When I was twenty, I was sent to Drangleic to become a queen. Accompanied by my handmaidens, an elite cadre of Desert Sorceresses sworn to serve my family, I made my way to the land of gods and heroes. I quickly learned I was not welcome."

The queen's face turned sour as she remembered her time there. "King Castor's first wife, Prince Carlyle's mother, died in the first days of the Giant Invasion, slain when the Giant's attacked the Great Wharf while she was attending a ball. He never got over it, and even though he accepted me as a second wife, he never forgot her. He was cold, and the war had hardened him to the point where he wasn't capable of showing emotions. His moniker of "Old Iron King" referred to more than just his love for the metal and war. He also never smiled, laughed, or showed enjoyment towards anything."

"Prince Carlyle was already a young man at this point, and we became friends after a fairly cold start. He loved the princess of Venn and I secretly helped him send messages to her. I believe that is what made him come to like me. Chancellor Torvin, who oversaw most of the day to day workings of the kingdom, praised my efforts to better myself and slowly became a dear friend. Other than them I had few true companions. The rest of the nobles thought I was beautiful, and I was without a doubt a vision of beauty, but they thought I was naught but a trophy! A decoration to look pretty, with no brains or talents. I already was a skilled Pyromancer and Sorceress in my own rights, and later took to learning weapons to try and find a way to please my husband. But nothing worked."

"In Chancellor Torvin's memories I came across mention of a 'mistress' for the Old Iron King. What was that about?" Erik asked, speaking up for the first time. He instantly regretted it as Mytha slammed her fist into the table, denting the black iron with the force of her blow.

"It was a few years into my life as queen when I learned about this. Apparently, Castor fell in love with a mysterious woman many years ago when he was fighting the Giants. But he could not marry her for some reason or another, and kept her around hidden as a lover while he was married to another woman. Me. It was Carlyle who told me of this, and I was furious when I found out! I was giving my all to him, to please him in every way! I was one of the best spear fighters in the Citadel, praised by Sir Alonne himself! My magic was the rival of Duke Aldia and the Priestesses of Eluem Loyce, and I spent hours keeping myself beautiful for him! And yet he spurned all of my advances and efforts in favor of this 'Nadalia' woman!" Mytha's eyes were literally glowing with her rage, and the table started to hiss and steam as her hands pulsed with raw magic.

Lucatiel and Chloanne shot Erik a scathing look and he just shrugged helplessly.

"Do you know, he never once slept with me, or even in the same bed?! He refused to even touch me!" Mytha hissed, the venom in her voice causing the three listeners to recoil. "Was I not enough for him?! Were my achievements nothing in his eyes?! What did that harlot have that I did not!?"

It took a few minutes for the queen to calm down, and the end result was that the Manikins needed to replace the crushed remains of the table with a whole new one.

"Sooo… Donovan?" Erik tentatively asked, drawing the 'o' out for all it was worth. Mytha sighed, calm at last, before continuing her tale.

"In time, I grew increasingly isolated. Castor invaded Venn and wiped it off the map. Carlyle was locked away in his tower, which he later converted to a Belltower in secret, imprisoned for trying to save the princess of Venn from his father. Chancellor Torvin became distant, unsure of how to help me now that his workload was quadrupled thanks to the acquisition of Venn's land and resources. It was at this point that a young, wandering chef came to Alken."

"He was smart, charming, charismatic, kind… he was a wonderful person, and his cooking was divine." A tiny bead of drool appeared at the corner of Mytha's mouth, before she noticed and wiped it off while blushing. "Anyways! The true mark of his talents was how he managed to charm Castor himself. For the first time ever, I saw him smile after eating one of his dishes. You should have seen the nobles! Their jaws hit the floor in shock! Mine too, but that is beside the point. He spent six months in Alken, studying cuisine and local ingredients. And through it all, Donovan met with me and cooked and listened. He was… how can I describe him? He was the first man in a long time to pay attention to me as more than a queen or a pretty face, and he genuinely wanted to make me feel better."

"As for why I acted so… aggressively with you, Erik, is because I may have gained some weight. A lot of it, really." She looked down at her hands and lap in embarrassment. "His food was so good! I just could not stop eating, and he just kept cooking! A vicious cycle!"

Lucatiel and Chloanne shared understanding looks with the native of Jugo. They also knew the dangers of having too much good food.

"After he left, I met with Castor for the first time in several weeks, and he took one look at me, and you know what he said? 'You've got some meat on your bones!' The very first thing he says to me in days is that?! I was furious and I locked myself away in here afterwards."

As Lucatiel and Chloanne made soothing comments, Erik blinked, and then sighed. Did she really not understand what the king was saying? Women!

He checked his preparations for the dish, and smiled. Just one more touch, and he'd be finished. Carefully, Erik reached out with his left hand and held his palm over the still hot food. With lips pursed in concentration, he siphoned out the heat from the treats so they cooled rapidly and without need for an icebox as was normally required to finish this particular sweet. But he couldn't do it too fast or the food would crack and crystalize and thus ruin the taste. Gently, he took control of the heat, and with a sigh of relief, he moved his hand away. Finally, it was done!

"Presenting one of Donovan Potts' master-class desserts; Chocolate Bonbons stuffed with an assortment of delectable fillings!" With a flourish, Erik revealed a large silver platter covered in dark brown orbs, before placing it before the queen. Mytha gasped in joy and hesitantly reached out for the treats, as if afraid they were illusions that would shatter if she touched them. When the bonbons did not vanish when she picked one up, her smile grew even wider and she popped it in her mouth. A sensual moan of satisfaction rolled off her tongue, and the three Undead shifted a bit at a sudden wave of awkward. Erik swallowed a lump in his throat as Mytha quickly devoured the offered sweets, groaning in pleasure as the taste swept over her.

The chef discreetly passed out some of the chocolate treats to Lucatiel and Chloanne and they accepted gratefully. The taste was unlike anything they'd ever tasted. Rich and creamy with an intoxicating sweetness that melted in the mouths. The two women soon could not hold back and they moaned as well in pleasure.

Each bonbon was unique, and filled with a different addition. Fruit preserves, honey, a darker, richer chocolate, a touch of brandy… there was so much to taste and try, and none of the women wanted to put the food down.

In moments, their plates were empty and they gazed with pleading eyes at Erik for just a bit more. The chef obliged, presenting the final treat of the day; Soul Cake. Forth of the Four Divine Dishes Donovan Potts had created, it used extremely rare and potent ingredients to bring out the ultimate flavor.

Wheat flour was mixed with ground up Yellow and Red Burr kernels to add more substance to the batter while also letting the yeast rise faster with less heat which would preserve the taste of the rest of the ingredients. Eggs from Giant Ravens were cracked and their yolk added to the mix. Goldenfruit preserve was mixed with honey made from Lanternbell Flowers and then chocolate was added to the mixture, creating an impossibly sweet tasting icing. While normally this would be off-putting, the flavor was held in check by a generous application of Skeptic's Spice. The red colored seasoning was extremely rare, and while normally used to create and boost the power of Miracles for people with weak faith, it had another ability; to make whatever it is added to taste like the opposite. For example, something sweet would become sour on the tongue while anything bitter would become savory. Balanced with other ingredients a skilled chef could make food prepared with Skeptic's Spice taste like two different and opposing flavors, resulting in a symphony of flavors. And Erik was just such a chef.

The final ingredient of Soul Cake was, of course, a soul. Because this would normally be hard to obtain, most versions of this dessert skipped this part. But not today. Erik had infused the batter and icing with a Large Soul of a Hero, the largest and most precious soul he'd collected so far. But it would be worth it.

Erik placed the Soul Cake in front of Mytha, and her eyes suddenly teared up as she looked down on it. It wasn't very large, as the chef from Lindelt had to ration what he had, but that did not matter. It practically glowed in the firelight, and a warm, comforting scent rose from it. Colored fruit juice had been used to draw a picture on the top of the cake, and it showed a depiction of the emblem of the Jugonan royal family; a red and purple snake intertwined around a palm tree.

Reverently, Erik cut the fairly small cake into four pieces, with one of them clearly larger than the others. He placed them onto tiny ceramic plates and passed them out to the others.

"Queen Mytha, on behalf of the Old Iron King and countless awkward men around the world, I want to apologize; what he said to you that day was not an insult. It was a compliment."

Watery eyes looked at Erik in confusion, and he explained.

"I actually saw the same thing happen while in Lindelt; word for word. Instead of a king though it was a member of the City Watch trying to talk to a maid. Military men are a strange breed; they value strength. And what is a sign of strength but not muscles and a slightly larger bulk? Your Husband, by your own admission, did not show emotions. He was trying to give you a compliment in the only way he knew how."

At this, Mytha began to openly weep, tears dropping onto the cake, smearing the icing picture.

"A-are you certain?"

"Yes," Erik said simply, and the queen trembled as sobs wracked her body. Lucatiel and Chloanne couldn't hide their own tears, and they cried along with the tortured queen. Erik, as a man, fought tooth and nail to keep his own emotions from showing. The single drop of water running down his cheek was just sweat from working hard all this time! Not a tear!

Slowly, Mytha ate her portion of the Soul Cake, savoring the divine taste that blessed her at that moment. The chef, knightess and ore trader did so as well, letting the miracle of flavor wash over them.

All of a sudden, Mytha began to glow brightly, a piercing white light enveloping her! She did not seem to notice until her slice of cake was gone, and she just looked at herself in befuddlement. The glow grew more intense until there was a burst of pure whiteness that swallowed up the entire room!

As their sight returned, Erik hurried over to where the snake queen had been to check on her, bending down to take a closer look at her body only to stop short and stare at the scene before him. Lucatiel and Chloanne hurried over as well but froze just like the chef at what they were looking at.

Mytha lay there, but her body was very different to how it had been. Her snake tail and scales had vanished, leaving behind flawless chocolate colored skin. Her raven hair was long and luscious, even more so than before, and it had a sheen and bounce that made the other two women's hearts stir with envy. Where there once had been a scar where her neck detached, now there was nothing, not even a blemish. The only thing that marred her beautiful body was the Darksign, still glowing banefully between her cleavage. However the most important aspect of this new transformation was that she was completely naked. Only her golden jewelry was on her, and that did not manage to cover or hide anything. At all.

With a groan the queen stirred, sitting up and causing breasts that made Chloanne's look small to jiggle. She licked ruby red lips, moistening them with her tongue in a way that made the simple act look erotic. She was tall, standing over eight feet and her soul clearly a powerful one. The once-serpent blinked and looked around, taking in the shocked stares with a look of puzzlement that quickly morphed into embarrassment and a shriek of surprise as she took in her lack of clothing. She looked over at the chef from Lindelt with a scandalized blushing glare, before voicing her opinions of his voyeurism with a loud, echoing slap across Erik's face that sent him flying.

"Clothes. Now." She hissed through clenched teeth, and Lucatiel and Chloanne quickly rummaged around their packs and removed pieces of the Desert Sorceresses outfits for her to try on. They were small but that problem was remedied with a spell from the queen that altered their size and proportions.

"Will someone please explain what just happened?" Mytha inquired, looking down at the trio of Undead. All their gazes drifted to Erik as he staggered back to his feet nursing a bruised cheek. Seeing them stare at him, the chef could only honestly admit what had occurred.

"Um… Magic?"


	20. Chapter 20: New Friend Amidst the Embers

_**Chapter 20: A New Friend Amidst the Embers**_

Uncomfortable silence filled the circular arena turned dining room. Even the Headless Manikins dared not make a sound or take a step for fear of bringing the attention of the restored Queen of Alken onto them.

"Why did you two have the Desert Sorceresses clothes with you?" Erik asked, bravely taking the plunge to start the conversation and break the silence.

"Because sometimes women want to look and feel beautiful. Now enough stupid questions and tell me what happened!" Mytha said, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her foot slightly, a tiny frown on her face. The sight made the two Undead women tremble, memories of their mothers flashing through their minds.

"Donovan Potts wrote down the recipes for four meals he created while traveling through Drangleic. He called them his Four Divine Dishes. They were the soup dish Soul Noodles, the salad dish Soul Leaf Clover Salad, the meat entrée Dragon's Soul Steak, and the dessert Soul Cake. As their names imply, they all use souls as a main ingredient. Combined with the fact that they use very rare foodstuffs to make, Donovan notes he only ever made the dishes a few times in his entire life," Erik said truthfully.

"That does not explain how I was freed from the taint of Chaos just by eating that heavenly slice of pastry!" Mytha exclaimed and the chef just shrugged.

"I am sorry your majesty but I do not know the answer! To be honest I did not expect this to happen either! Donovan never made mention of this sort of effect in his notes. In fact this is only the second time I've made a Soul dish. And to be honest, I only made a pale imitation of his recipe both times. I had only a few of the ingredients necessary for Soul Cake, and made do with less."

The tall and elegant queen gave Erik a piercing stare, trying to find any trace of falsehood. When she saw none in the young chef's face her features relaxed. Her shoulders slumped and though her posture remained straight and noble, a terrible crushing weariness hung around the queen.

"I apologize for my rudeness, Erik Potts. I should have been thanking you for freeing me from that terrible form and fate, but instead my temper was short and my attitude unthankful. I am sorry." She bowed in gratitude to the young Undead, genuine concern and thankfulness suffusing her tone. Erik's eyes widened in surprise, as did his companions'. To be bowed at by royalty was not something any of them would have expected.

"What will you do now?" Erik asked after a minute of comfortable silence. Mytha rose and looked around her. An unidentifiable emotion crossed over her face as she took in the ruined room and its moat of poison. She then turned to look over the three Undead before her. A thoughtful look made its way onto her face, and she returned her attention to Erik.

"There is nothing for me here. My servants are Hollowed, my people dead or fled, my husband slain and his kingdom fallen. So I ask you, Erik Potts of Lindelt; will you let me travel with you in your quest?" She knelt before the chef, begging for his answer. Once more the Undead were shocked into a stupefied situation. A queen wanting to become their companion? Preposterous!

"Is this really what you want?" Erik asked hesitantly. Mytha simply reached out and grabbed his hands in her own, and she leaned close, giving him a good look at her chest.

"Yes. I have nothing else. My family is gone, reduced to mere dust in the wind. My riches mean nothing to a dying world, and what good is being a queen to a land that lacks people? Please, Erik, let me join you. Take responsibility for giving me a choice once more and accept my offer." Her voice was proud but it was full of longing. Erik understood loneliness. Days on the road as an Undead had taught him that. Before that, he had been surrounded by friends and coworkers. To suddenly find them all ripped away from him had almost broke his heart and shattered his will. But he'd endured. And here was a strong woman with an even greater tragedy in her past. How long had it been since someone spoke to her with kind word? How long had she been hidden away, morphed into an abomination by Chaos?

How could he deny her entreaties after such passion? Erik smiled and looked into Mytha's eyes.

"Queen Mytha, I gladly accept your request. You may accompany me and my two friends on this journey. I hope we can get along."

Lucatiel and Chloanne both nodded in agreement. Though they were slightly put off by the queen's desire, they knew they could not truly blame her for it. Hell, Chloanne had done pretty much the same thing! And both of them understood the pain of loneliness, and knew intimately how Erik's very presence banished that suffering. The two women shared a look, both coming to a silent understanding. They might not approve, but this was something that had to be done.

As for Mytha, her eyes filled with tears and she gleefully hugged the chef to her bosom all while shouting thanks as she squeezed the life out of poor lucky Erik.

"Urg! You're… very strong!" Erik praised awkwardly, and the tall woman just giggled.

"Thank you. You're not too bad yourself." She gave a seductive wink at Erik who blushed before sauntering over to her dropped spear. She picked it up and examined it, pleased with the condition.

Her three companions also took the time to look at the weapon now they had a chance to without a major risk of impalement. The spear was built to match the warrior-queen's size and it was easily taller than Lucatiel, previously the tallest of the group. The long shaft looked to be made of a stone-like wood, probably Arch-tree. It was capped at the base with a simple covering of fine steel which glinted silver in the torchlight. As for the weapon part of the polearm, it was large and sharp, with two sets of spiked prongs set beneath a wide spearhead. It too was made of extremely fine steel but somewhat tarnished by age and contact with the swirling waste of its home. It was simple yet deadly, a fine example of the Old Iron King's style of weaponry.

"Function over form was always Castor's mantra," Mytha said as she caught her new traveling buddies glancing at her weapon. "And of course I have my Sorceries and Pyromancies. I'll hold off on using the latter until we've left this place. I don't want it all going up in flames from a stray spark."

She gave her weapon a twirl, the long and likely heavy weapon like a twig in her hands. She gave a hum of approval and then turned to watch Erik pack up his supplies.

"Let me carry the Bottomless Box for you. I don't want to have you strain yourself trying to be all macho and manly," Mytha commanded, and Erik looked like he wanted to protest, but ultimately gave in and let her take it. She hefted the wooden and gold-gilded chest with one hand and attached it to her back with the improvised straps Erik had provided.

"Thank you, your majesty," the chef thanked, and the queen waved it off.

"Not a problem." She looked around, saw everyone was ready to go, and nodded.

"There is a secret shortcut in the back of this chamber that leads straight out of the Earthen Peaks and into Alken, right near the Iron Citadel. Is that fine with all of you?"  
A chorus of assent greeted her and the freed woman smiled.

"One last thing; please, call me Mytha. No need for formalities while I travel with you all."

Erik gulped, unsure if he or the others could do so. They shared a look, and they knew this would take some getting used to.

The secret escape route Mytha led them to was well made, containing another mechanical rising platform that the queen explained was called an 'elevator' and had been invented by the smiths and forge-masters of Alken. Their design was popular and convenient and many were installed across the land during the height of the Old Iron King's reign.

"As useful as they are I'm not a fan," Mytha admitted after they stepped off of it. "I like having solid ground beneath my feet."

"I suppose you're bad with boats then?" Erik asked, and the queen nodded.

"I've only been on one and that was to travel here. I've never felt so nauseated before!"

"Does anyone else smell smoke?" Chloanne suddenly asked, tilting her head to the side to catch the scent. As soon as she said this, the rest of them felt the vapors of burning materials reach their nose.

"Erik, you said that Alken drowned in lava… do you think…?" Lucatiel began but petered out, looking askance at their new royal companion.

"I don't know, but I feel we are about to find out," Erik said grimly, pointing ahead to where the smooth stone tunnel ended, letting in red-orange light shine onto the darkness. The view that greeted the Undead as they stepped out of the tunnel was a nightmarish vision.

Fire. That was all that could be seen. What had once been a city surrounded by a vale and mountains was now a seething wound upon the world. Lava gushed from gaping pits in the ground while the remains of the city burned in a cauldron of flames and molten rock. Most of the buildings and monuments were gone, swallowed by the pit that had opened up. Only the Iron Citadel remained intact in any manner, the ensorcelled iron used to enhance its foundations the only thing keeping it afloat on the apocalyptic sea.

Thanks to the way the Earthen Peaks had formed eons ago, when the volcanoes had erupted the resulting destruction was contained by the rocky slopes. Furthermore, when the ground shifted under the sudden influx of lava, most of it sunk deep into the old mines that littered the area, keeping the burning tide from spilling forth into the rest of Drangleic.

Of course this was little consolation to the people who'd once lived here. Those who hadn't been immolated by the flames, suffocated by the toxic vapors, or trampled by riots and panic had lost everything. From their homes and possessions to the jobs and monarch. Without anyone to lead them, most of the survivors fled to other countries. Tales of Alken's fall spread with the refugees, and in time entered the annals of history and legend. To see the charred remains of greatness was humbling and heartbreaking.

Mytha collapsed to her knees as she took in the devastation, tears falling only to hiss into puffs of steam upon the baked soil.

"My home," she whimpered, staring at it all. "It's gone."

She raised a trembling finger and pointed to somewhere in the fiery quagmire. "Over there is was the training grounds stood… Sir Alonne used to discipline the troops there, and was also where he'd sometimes show me tricks with weapons… And that place used to be where a flower shop sold the most fragrant roses I'd ever smelled… and can you see that obelisk? They used to hold the festivals there in the city square…"

Everything the queen pointed at was gone, replaced with roiling waves of Chaos infused lava. Chloanne hesitantly wrapped Mytha is a comforting hug, which the larger women gratefully accepted. With a shoulder to cry on she let out all her sorrow, rage, and frustration, letting her sobs echo mournfully across the ruins.

"How did this happen? Volcanoes are temperamental but surely there should have been warning signs?" Lucatiel asked, gazing in horror at the landscape.

"I don't know! Maybe Castor dug too deep and unleashed something, or perhaps it was nature taking its course. I just don't know!" Mytha wailed.

The knightess opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Erik placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head silently. This was not the time for questions. She reluctantly agreed, and chose instead to remove a pair of gilded binoculars she'd picked up from the Covetous Demon's hoard, peering down at their next destination.

"I see a lot of armored Hollows down there. Some have black armor and either giant bows or curved swords, while some have big hammers and hunched backs. Think they'll be a problem?" Lucatiel asked after a minute of scanning the area.

The queen of ruined Alken sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before answering.

"The former are Alonne Knights, trained by the One Strike Kill Swordsman himself and who acted as the elite force of Alken. They are clad in Blacksteel armor and their weapons, a type of curved sword called a 'katana,' are also made of the stuff. Each is trained to be swift and to kill in as few blows as possible." Now that her tears were shed, Mytha turned to examine the problem in front of her. She had a new mission now and it was to aid the chef and his companions. This may have been her home once, but now it was naught but rubble.

"As for the soldiers with hunched looking posture, those are Ironclad Knights, golems made by Prince Carlyle and the Forge-Mages. Brute strength is their forte, and they can take a lot of damage before being taken down."

"What is Blacksteel? I've never heard of such a metal?" Chloanne asked, intrigued.

"And what exactly is the difference between a katana and a scimitar or other curved sword?" Lucatiel inquired as well.

"Blacksteel is a special alloy of steel and Titanite devised by my husband. Alken had plenty of iron and coal mines, but very little Titanite. That was mostly mined in Tseldora and thus belonged to King Vendrink. Blacksteel was invented to give his forces an edge over the Bradden steel and Geisteel of the Soul King's armies," Mytha explained, answering the ore trader's question first. "As for what is different about katanas… The main thing is they tend to be straighter then a scimitar, but still have only one bladed edge, as well as having a good balance between cutting and stabbing. They originated in Sir Alonne's homeland, and he brought their techniques with him. Castor loved the design of the swords and their fighting style and had his knights practice the same as his favorite warrior."

The two women nodded at the queen's explanation. Erik then spoke up with his own question.

"Since you were their queen, would the Hollowed knights and rampaging golems still obey you?" Erik asked, and the former snake-women paused to think about that.

"I do not know. Hollows are mindless, but they also have been documented to continue following routines they'd done in life. A miner who became an Undead and later Hollow would continue to swing a pickaxe and dig. So it's possible the years of ingrained training and loyalty might make the Alonne Knights leave us alone. Not the Ironclad's though. Only Carlyle and Castor knew the keywords to control them. They were military units unlike my Manikin servants."

"Yes. Those headless dolls were totally servants. I mean, who doesn't strap knives to their toys?" Lucatiel snarked, before clamping her mouth shut and casting a fearful glance at Mytha. The queen just sighed in acknowledgement though.

"I'll admit, I was not in my right mind for a long time. Did you know they used to have faces? But at some point, around the time I lost my head, I ordered all of my servants to remove their own heads because I was insulted by their intact necks."

"Huh." Erik had nothing to say to that, and neither did the knightess or merchant. They simply smiled tensely at Mytha, who smiled back playfully.

"Don't worry, you three. I promise that if I go crazy, I won't make you cut off your own heads, or any of your body parts."

"That's a relief. I like having my tongue where I can't see it," Erik joked, and the tension was eased by his dumb humor.

"Maybe I should show you some tricks about where to put it later," Mytha purred, suddenly leaning over to the chef in an exaggerated and sexual manner. "If you're anything like Donovan you should be very skilled…"

"OK! Time's a wasting! Let's go and get that soul! Huzzah!" Erik cried, his face bright red as he hurried past the laughing queen. As he headed down the ridge that led to the caldera and the Iron Citadel Lucatiel and Chloanne gave the taller woman scandalized glares.

"Oh don't give me those looks! I can't help it! He's just so fun to tease! And he gets all flustered just like his ancestor!" Mytha chuckled, following after Erik. She then turned back to the pair of women and winked. "And if you two want, I could teach you some 'techniques' that could help you catch his eye."

Lucatiel spluttered in indignation and denial while Chloanne squeaked in surprise and turned crimson as well. They then realized they were being left behind and hurried to catch up with their leader and new traveling companion. Mytha grinned to herself. This journey was turning out to be a lot of fun!


	21. Chapter 21: Broken Soul and Fading Ember

_**Chapter 21: A Broken Soul and a Fading Ember**_

"Damn the gods it's hot," Erik griped, feeling more soggy and dirty than when he'd walked through those sewers. His companions did not bother to respond, even if they agreed. They were too busy sweating buckets. The heat was so bad that Lucatiel had stripped off her Mirrahian garb and had actually put on the Desert Sorceress's outfit. Chloanne did the same moments later, the thin and sparse fabric allowing for a good cool breeze to caress and cool them. The only person who wasn't suffering the worst was Mytha, and that was only because she was used to Jugo's intense heat. But even that paled before the oppressive warmth radiating from the lava and the queen's skin was glossy with her sweat.

"We should find some shelter up at the Iron Citadel. There were all sorts of wards in place to repress the heat of the forges so it may be cooler inside," Mytha pointed out, stepping carefully across what had once been a roof of a temple.

With Alken submerged in molten earth, there were no streets or paths to the center of the city. The four Undead had to use the roofs and floating piles of rubble to cross, which was extremely hazardous. A single slip would incinerate them and none wanted to find out what happened to an Undead who died due to drowning in lava.

It took a long time, far more so than they'd first thought, but the group made it to the imposing keep that dominated the center of the city. Stepping onto the remains of the bridge the group let out a sigh of relief at not only reaching their destination without any of them dying, but also a sudden whisper of chilliness that settled on them. The powerful enchantments laid into the stone around them still held strong and it kept the worst of the heat away. Erik only hoped it would be even better inside.

"Is that a bonfire?" Chloanne spoke up suddenly, pointing off to the side of the bridge where indeed a flaming sword impaled a pile of charred bones on what used to be a staircase.

"So it is," Mytha said, strutting over to it and letting the flames roar to life.

"This spot is almost as bad as the bonfire situated right on that crumbling tower in Heide," Erik grumbled while Lucatiel nodded in agreement. There was a balcony and some railing to prevent someone plunging into the seething fires below, but the landing dropped off suddenly into lava where it lapped almost gently against the edges of the steps.

Oddly enough the bonfire emitted no heat, instead pushing it away and keeping the area about room temperature.

"So, Mytha, can you tell us about the layout of the castle?" Chloanne asked and the queen nodded.

"Certainly. Let me see… if my memory is correct the bridge here leads to a gatehouse and from there the front entrance. The inner courtyard beyond is filled with a large number of Blacksteel refineries and master-class forges." Seeing the looks of confusion, the woman from Jugo explained. "Castor liked having the best smiths and Forge-Masters close by. It kept the secret of Blacksteel and our automata from being stolen and it allowed my husband to oversee everything. He was a bit of a control freak when it came to war and industry and liked to have a direct hand in what went on in his domain."

"Reminds me of an old chef I knew back in Lindelt," Erik mused. "He used to hate anyone messing up his kitchen or doing things differently from his own way. Used to work down near the Central Market in a tavern. Made a mean omelet. Crud, now I want eggs."

His companions laughed at the young cook, before they turned their gaze to the Iron Citadel.

"Are we ready?" The chef asked, and was given a wave of bobbing and nodding heads. "Then let's raid this castle!"

At once the group rushed off, eager to escape the infernal heat and find the next soul.

Approaching the bridge, the Undead saw a trio of sleek black armored knights wielding curved blades that tensed as the travelers approached. However as soon as they spotted Mytha they fell to their knees, ancient oaths of loyalty moving their bodies despite their Hollowed nature. The queen grinned at that, pleased her hypothesis was proved true for the Alonne Knights.

"Rise, my subjects, and stand aside for me and my guests! They are to come to no harm while in these walls!" The Queen of Alken stated, her voice a booming force that resounded across the area. The Hollowed knights rose and saluted their monarch before bowing and letting the quartet past. The same scene played out again inside, with the two Alonne Knights standing guard within falling to their knees. Once the group of Undead had stepped into the blessed shade and coolness of the foyer, Mytha turned back to her ever loyal soldiers.

"Thank you. You have waited a long time, guarding your king. You may rest, now. I permit it."

A relieved sigh rippled through the squad of knights and they sunk to the floor, weary and relieved of duty. Souls poured out of the collapsed forms and entered the adventurers, filling them with vigor.

"To think they would still kneel before me…" Mytha whispered to herself, staring at the fallen knights with an unreadable expression. Erik patted her comfortingly on the small of her back, since he couldn't reach her shoulders. The queen shook her head and gave the young chef a grateful smile.

"Who's there?! Is that you, Pate?! I won't let you take my treasure again you sniveling little…!" A man in basic merchants garb rushed out of a side passage, brandishing a dagger and a glowing pyromancy glove. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the three beautiful scantily clad women and his jaw drops. The man recovers quickly though, shaking his head out of the daze and tightening his grip on his blade.

"What? Who're you?"

"Um, I am Erik Potts of Lindelt, and these are my companions; Lucatiel, Chloanne, and Mytha," the young Undead introduced, stepping in front of the women. The merchant blinked in surprise, having only just noticed the sole male. "And who are you, good sir?"

"Who, me? I'm Magerold, who else? Magerold of Lanafir, treasure hunter and merchant! What? Have a look at my wares?" The self-proclaimed treasure hunting merchant said with a nervous laugh, not liking the sharp look the tallest woman shot him.

"A thief dares to plunder my home? How Drangleic has fallen," Mytha spat, but a restraining hand was placed on her thigh, courtesy of Erik.

"It has been a very long time since Alken fell, Mytha. In fact I am surprised there is anything left here of value," the chef said, looking at Magerold for confirmation.

"Yeah, not much left but lots of scrap metal and broken equipment. There is some stuff here and there, but mostly this castle has been picked clean. Well, except for some places. There's a fog gate near the courtyard and there's a huge goat horned demon that lurks in the lava near this massive bronze bull statue," the nervous explorer revealed. The queen thought for a moment before giving a curt nod.

"Very well then. I shall pardon you for now. But I would advise you leave this place. Sooner or later the wards will fail, and this region is done for. And, I do not look kindly on grave robbers," Mytha warned, and the man hastily nodded.

"I'll leave! I'll return to Majula! Thank you for your kindness, my lady!" Magerold exclaimed hurriedly before running back down the corridor to grab his things. As he did so the queen let out a huff and headed over to a flame-spouting bull's head set in the wall. She reached over with her spear and poked something between its eyes, and with a click the fires stopped spewing. Mytha then bent down and snatched up a red-hot key from an incinerated corpse nearby. She peered at the thick metal item and hummed in thought.

"I remember this key. King Vendrick commissioned it a while back as well as a lock. It seems my husband kept a copy after sending the original to its purchaser."

"How did you spot it from so far away?" Lucatiel asked, impressed by the keen eyesight of the royal woman.

"I didn't, I just sensed its magic. Anyone can pick a lock with tools and time. Castor came up with a way to prevent this; enchanted key and lock combination. The lock has a defensive spell, and the paired key has the counter spell. Anyone who puts anything that is not the proper key near the lock hole will be hit with a jolt of magic, stunning them. These Magic Locks and Keys became popular and he sold them across the world. I had a feeling he'd keep a few copies for himself though. Never know when you might want to open a rival's treasure vault or securely barred fortress door," Mytha said, dipping the key into a nearby urn of water and watching the resulting steam trail into the air before sneering at the charred remains. "Looks like this thief won't be opening anymore locks."

"You don't like thieves, I take it," Erik said, stating the painfully obvious. Mytha just nodded.

"In Jugo, the greatest and only sin is Theft. All others are merely different forms of it. Lying is stealing the truth. Greed is stealing from the needy. Heresy is stealing from the gods. Murder is stealing a life. Theft is the First Sin, the Last Sin, and the Only Sin, as decreed by our kingdoms founder and my ancestor, King Aurorus the Just."

"It is true, Erik. Thieves and the like are treated as the worst criminals in Jugo. Many a time such people have fled the borders into Mirrah and us knights are tasked to bring them in and hand them back to the Thief Catchers of our southern neighbor. I myself have done so a few time," Lucatiel said, elaborating on the traditions of the desert kingdom.

"Sounds... unforgiving," Erik said slowly, and the queen nodded in agreement.

"It is. But it must be. Jugo has few resources, and trade is our primary method of obtaining goods and materials. A thief who steals a bolt of cloth or a Common Fruit from a caravan ends up doing more harm in my homeland than elsewhere because such things are far more expensive and harder to obtain," Mytha explained.

Erik just sighed but nodded in understand. "Alright then. Let's move out. I want to clear the fog door before night fall." His companions all nod, and as they head out to confront their next foe the chef hears the footsteps of the retreating Lanafirian. He silently wished the man good luck, and prayed Magerold does not run into them again. He doubted Mytha would be so forgiving the second time.

The chef stumbled for a moment when the tall dark skinned woman tossed Erik the now cooled key.

"I have no idea what it is for. But you're the traveler and the leader. You should be the one to hold onto it for safe keeping," Mytha explained. The cook just nodded and slipped the tool into his pouch before continuing to walk.

Passing by more kneeling Alonne Knights the group emerges from the cool darkness of the Iron Keep's interior and stepped once more into the sweltering heat. The entire square courtyard had been subsumed in the lava, twisted and melted stairs leading down to nowhere but a fiery death, while several Alonne Knights armed with gargantuan bows and different armor stood at the ready on balconies and walkways around the area. These soldiers quickly bowed to their liege lady as well, putting aside their weapons. Mytha waved them off, commanding them to rest and smiling a sad smile as they comply, finally allowing themselves to rest and die.

The group did not know if they would rise again. It took several deaths for a Hollow to lose all their souls and surrender their final spark of life. But if ordered to do so by their monarch? Perhaps the even Curse of the Undead could fall victim to the unwavering and unbreakable loyalty of Mytha's knights.

And the queen could only weep silently as she watched her devoted servants obey her. For so long she had been convinced of her worthlessness in the eyes of her husband. For so long had Mytha ignored the adoration of the people, believing it all to be a lie. In her thoughts the Fairest Queen laughed mockingly at herself. All it took to see the truth was a handsome young man and the destruction of all she knew and cared for! The gods and fate must have truly twisted senses of humor.

"There, I see the fog gate. Past the Furnace Room and walk way. We'll need to lower it first, though," the queen said after drying her tears, desperate to focus on something else to distract her.

"I see levers on both sides. Let's see what happens when we pull them," Chloanne suggested and everyone agreed. As they approached the lever closest to them, Lucatiel wandered over to the big, heavy door that connected to a very large chamber. From above it had looked as if the chamber connected to both sides of the courtyard, seeing as how it dominated its corner of the castle. She was about to open it and find out what was on the other side when she felt Mytha's hand close around her arm and pull her back.

"Careful!" The queen cried. "That door leads to the Furnace Room! It was used to superheat Titanite for forging purposes!"

Mytha led the knightess back to their group, the ore trader having pulled the lever and lowering the walkway. It hung at an angle though, the chains fouled up and so they'd need to pull both levers to fix the problem.

"And? It's not being used right now," Lucatiel protested, annoyed at how the taller woman was dragging her away like a naughty child.

"No, but that doesn't mean it's not on! See that large circular wheel?" the queen asked, pointing to the front of the so-called Furnace Room where a rusted red steering wheel-esque lever sat.

"See how the spokes are at an angle? That means it was turned on, and since the castle fell no one bothered to close it! Now the lava has filled the heating cells, and is sending massive amounts of superheated air upwards! In the past, just stoking it with coal and wood was enough to have the Furnace Room melt people who opened the doors before turning it off! Just imagine what Chaos-tainted lava would do to you if you'd unleashed it?"

The swordswoman paled at the thought, and she bowed her head in apology to Mytha.

"I'm sorry, I just thought we could cut through it, like a short cut," Lucatiel explained.

"If it was closed, shut down, and cool, it would have been an excellent idea," Mytha confirmed. "But right now it is too hot and dangerous."

As they spoke the group reached the end of the walkway and stood on the opposite causeway, looking to the left at the shimmering mists. The team shrugged off their heavy packs and organized their weapons and equipment. As much as Lucatiel wanted to keep wearing the silky sorceress's garb, it was far more important she have the defense of her Mirrah armored coat.

"Let's do this," Erik said, and he stepped up first. The mist was cool to the touch as always, but after so much heat it was almost unbearably cold to the Undead as they passed through.

What they saw on the other side made their jaws drop and Mytha growl in worry. What looked like a miniature Giant clad in thick black metal plates and with two obscenely large horns on the sides of its head stood at the far end of a circular chamber, massive sword held in its hands. In the center of its chest was a gaping hole, empty and dark. As they entered, flames flickered to life in the monstrosity's stomach, and the hole was filled with red fire infused with souls, animating the creature.

At once, the Soul of the Last Giant screamed out in fury and despair, and Erik was overwhelmed by the sudden outcry of emotions. He was almost decapitated as the behemoth leapt surprisingly far at them, but Mytha dragged him to the side.

"A Smelter Demon!" Mytha shouted. "Aim for the head, and don't let it flames touch you! They feed on souls!" All her warnings and worries were for not though as Erik raised his left hand with a strange, terrible look in his eyes. He shouted something in a language none of them recognized, and the room froze over almost instantly. Dark blue ice surrounded the young chef and the temperature plunged below freezing so fast everyone's skin cracked and blistered due to the sweat that had still clung to them. As for their foe, the magical chill was even less forgiving. The metal plates and sword shattered as the cold froze them solid, and the ice popped and screeched as it tore into the cursed flames that sustained the golem. It struggled for a moment before slumping to its knees, the furnace in its chest going dark as frost devoured the flames. Souls rushed out from it, and a iron grey colored soul popped out, floating over to Erik. It entered the cook, and soon his mind was captured by the past.

A Giant, it seems, did not see the world as humans did. It had no eyes and it perceived things through the light of souls and energy that flowed through the land. What the soul 'remembered' was also indistinct but telling none the less.

Peace. Happiness. The sun was bright in the Giant's homeland. The souls were plentiful. Arch-trees grew tall and the people tended to them. Darkness came out of nowhere one day, stealing their children. The Darkness was alive. It Wanted everything, and it stole the young to lure them. Their King roared and the Giants went to war for the first time since they had allied with the Gods of the First Flame to drive back the Ancient Stone Dragons.

War. Blood. Death. Countless lives were extinguished by his fists. His hammer had broken at one point, and he just wailed away at all the tiny little insects that stung him. A man with a Crown of Iron screamed a challenge, his soul flaring noble-gold with the grey tint of ambition. The two clashed. The King with the Soul of Iron slammed a hammer into him. He fell. The humans swarmed him. He struggled, but the Old Iron King beat him down. He awoke one last time. The last things he felt were his limbs being cut off, and the mocking laughter of Darkness's Want were the final sounds he heard.

Erik screamed as the painful emotions and memories assailed him, battering him down. The ice around him fragmented and melted away as his will to control it fled and it filled the room with clouds of steam.

"Erik! Erik! Are you alright?!" Lucatiel cried, grabbing the boy and shaking him. He was crying now, curled up in a ball.

"What is going on? Why is he reacting to the Smelter Demon's soul like that?! And how long has he been able to conjure ice?!" Mytha demanded, turning a piercing stare at the two women but they responded in kind, glaring back at the queen.

"We don't know! This has never happened before!" Lucatiel shouted, ignoring the last question. Chloanne had wrapped the chef into a smoothing hug, cradling him against her chest where he seemed to calm down. His sobbing dwindled, and his tears dried.

"Erik, are you alright?" Lucatiel asked after a few minutes. He shook his head.

"How did you summon that ice? Where did you learn that? Why did you react so poorly to the Smelter…" Mytha began, determined to find the answer, but Erik spoke up, cutting her off.

"What… do you know about those things?" He demanded, his voice cold and harsh as he stared up at the queen. Mytha was taken aback, but she composed herself.

"Smelter Demons are the most powerful golems my husband made. That is all I know. I always assumed he used a Demonic soul as the base," the queen of Alken admitted. Erik stared into her eyes, trying to find falsehoods or deceit, but when he saw none he relaxed a tiny bit and looked away.

"They… are not demons. They were Giants," Erik said slowly, his head throbbing with a headache. "During the war, the Old Iron King turned the Giants he had captured into golems. He tore off their limbs. He carved them open. He filled their veins with molten iron and branded runes onto their very souls to change and control them. He did this all while they were still alive and aware."

Mytha gasped and Chloanne turned green. Lucatiel just frowned in disgust, but her heart and stomach were in rebellion against her.

"Why?" Mytha finally managed to ask. She believed the chef. How could she not when she saw the horror in his eyes?

"He hated them. They killed his wife. His men. His people. But he was manipulated. Just like the Giants. Someone… something… kidnapped all of the Giant's children from their homeland. They came to Drangleic to get them back, but the kidnapper forced them into a war."

"Who could do something like that?" Lucatiel whispered. Erik made an effort to shrug but it came off as a flop.

"I don't know. Just that it was Darkness that was alive somehow, and made of Want. Endless desire for something, but it was all broken and fractured. Like a distorted image in a cracked mirror," Erik said. Feeling better, he rose from Chloanne's lap and panted for air.

"As for my ice powers, I just figured out how to use Pyromancy to manipulate the cold and temperatures," the cook said to Mytha, explaining his freezing magic. He winced as he looked down and saw his left hand. His entire appendage had turned into a solid block of ice that was slowly cracking and splintering, taking chunks of flesh with every shard of ice that feel. He quickly downed his entire Estus Flask's contents, and that alleviated his damaged flesh somewhat.

Nobody spoke for a while. They were too shocked to do much else. After resting for a bit, recovering from absorbing the Smelter Demon's soul and fixing most of his hand, Erik felt a tug in his Fire Seed, and he blinked in surprise. Slowly, he turned around and let his magic lead him.

"Erik, where are you going?" Chloanne asked, worried. Lucatiel and Mytha looked up in concern as well but the chef waved away their concerns as he walked out of the golem's chamber.

"It's nothing, my Fire Seed is acting up," Erik explained, which made Mytha's eyebrows rise.

"You have a Fire Seed imbedded in you? Impressive. Such items are rare, even in Drangleic. I myself never had one implanted as I was proficient enough in Sorcery and Pyromancy not to need its help. But I have seen Fire Seed wielders do amazing things with their flames. They have a control even I envy."

"I know exactly what you mean about control. Lucatiel and I fought a Pyromancer in the depths of the Lost Bastille who not only could negate my Pyromancy with her own, but had Fire Seeds implanted in her hands and feet," Erik said, revealing a bit about his past battles. Mytha and Chloanne both had stunned expressions at that.

"The Lost Sinner was that powerful? And to have four whole Fire Seeds inside her… that is astonishing," the queen mumbled to herself. Erik stopped, right at the edge of the broken walkway, facing the ragged ruins of a metal staircase.

"You knew her?" He asked, staring intently at something lying across from him.

"I knew of her. A priestess of Eleum Loyce, banished and imprisoned in the largest Undead containment facility ever built. Her crime was apparently that she attempted to rekindle the First Flame itself but instead unleashed the Chaos which had been contained in the north for ages," Mytha said with a grim frown on her face.

"The First Flame? You mean it is not a myth?" Chloanne asked in surprise, which only grew as the regent nodded.

"I was not privy to all the details, but when the Curse of the Undead exploded across the world, Castor, Vendrick, and Ival gathered together in a secret meeting. What they discussed was apparently about finding the source of the Curse. They found it. I do not know much beyond that, but it seems that it is tied to the First Flame, and it has begun to flicker and die. The Monarch Candidate Contingency Plan was established to find a way to preserve the Flame from fading."

The three younger Undead all turned to stare at the queen, shocked beyond all reason. And for Erik, upon hearing the words 'Monarch Candidate,' the souls he'd collected thrummed and buzzed as if trying to communicate with him.

"What, exactly, is this monarch business?" Erik asked, turning to face Mytha, his other goal currently put on hold. The queen blinked in surprise.

"You mean you were not told?"

"Told what?" Lucatiel asked, worried, with Chloanne sharing her concerns.

"I just… they really sent you off without telling you anything?" When nobody spoke, Mytha had a dazed look to her.

"I-I see. That… explains some things…" She leaned against the wall and slid down it, confused. "I thought something was wrong. Before, when I'd fought the other Candidates they all seemed gung-ho and unflappable. But…"

The queen sighed and turned to the people she was beginning to consider friends.

"There are Undead with unusually powerful souls. These people, known as Monarch Candidates, are the best possible choices to use as messengers of sorts. They are to gather four souls which belonged to four very old and powerful beings, and use them in conjunction with an artifact King Vendrick made called the Throne of Want. Other than that, I know that only one Candidate can appear at a time, and if a Candidate fails either due to Hollowing or some other reason than the souls they have collected will be 'reset' in conjunction with the magic of the bonfires. Those flickering piles of bones and embers are connected to the First Flame somehow, and were made by Duke Aldia and the Ivory King using lost magic of some sort and based off of a set of Primal Bonfires that have been around for eons."

"I have been killed many times before," Mytha admitted. "I was demented and tainted by Chaos, but I still remember some things. Hero after hero invading the Earthen Peaks and slaying me, stealing my soul. I was a mere stepping stone for them. An obstacle on the way to the Primal Soul that hides here in Alken somewhere. Only for them to die and my essence to escape and then reform, just as insane and twisted as before. I do not know why. For centuries I have suffered. I do not know why. And that is the truth, Erik Potts of Lindelt. Please, do not hate me. Do not abandon me."

She looked up at Erik with genuine fear and sorrow, and Erik understood her words were true. The souls in him vibrated as if letting him know they were corroborating her story. He leaned down and took her hands into his own.

"I believe you, Mytha. And I promise I will not turn you aside or leave you behind. We are friends, after all." Erik flashed her a smile, and the queen returned it with one of her own.

Satisfied Mytha was calm now, Erik turned his attention back to his Fire Seed and the object just beyond his reach. He held out his hand, focusing on the feeling of connection. And something moved. A tiny, gilded treasure box rose shakily off of a corpse on the stairs and floated over to the Undead chef. It looked dainty and like what a noblewoman might use to store her jewelry and accessories.

He saw the lid was closed and the box locked, but as he peered at the keyhole a spark jumped from his left palm unbidden and wiggled its way into the lock. At once a faint click could be heard and he popped it open only to stare in shock at what he saw inside. Nestled in a bed of cut and polished Twinkling Titanite a weak and flickering ember burned. Despite its size and frailty however it oozed divinity. It was like a miniature bonfire with how it dazzled and soothed, but far more pure and refined. As its light washed over the chef his hand began to heal. Not only that but his Fire Seed seemed to drink up the warm light of the object, growing stronger and more deeply rooted into his body and soul.

Erik swallowed and licked his lips and his mouth went dry. The Fire Seed in him knew what it was. The Pyromancy within him knew what it was. His Humanity itself knew what this was. A fragment of the First Flame, a Legendary Ember, once used to forge the mightiest of artifacts. The art and the tools now lost, the last known Ember had vanished when Heide fell. So what was it doing here?  
The girls leaned in to take a closer look and fell into a reverent silence as well as they beheld a source of reality itself.

"An Ember… was this what my husband used to forge his artifacts?" Mytha wondered, her voice a silky and quiet whisper. Erik said and did nothing, except close the box and put it away. Not into his pouch, but in the tiny pocket on the inside of his shirt where Donovan's tome rested next to his heart.

"It's time to go," Erik said after a moment. The spell of awe was broken and the group shook themselves awake.

"Y-yes. We should move on. Those souls won't collect themselves," Chloanne said in a wavering voice that grew stronger as she spoke. Silent nods went around, and the team walked off to find their next destination towards destiny.


	22. Chapter 22: Death of a King

_**Chapter 22: A King's Final Death and his Dark Secret**_

The journey through the Iron Keep was fairly unexciting. The Alonne Knights knelt before Mytha and heeded her wishes while the Ironclad Knights were too slow to be a threat thanks to the myriad of ranged attacks the group had amassed.

As such, the going was easy. Crossing over in a refinery that was attached to the castle, the group followed Mytha's lead over to a closed door and revealed an empty room with one of those face-walls.

"I want to check on something before we keep going," Mytha said, placing a hand into the 'mouth' and channeling large amounts of magical energy into it. Its eyes glowed and soon the wall lit up and then faded, showing a ladder.

"Up here is the entrance to the Belltower where Carlyle was imprisoned," the queen explained to the watching Undead.

"Tales talk about how the prince of Alken was imprisoned for loving the princess of Venn. What was the real story behind it all?" Chloanne asked. Mytha sighed and paused before the ladder, deciding to reveal some history.

"Alken and Venn were once a single kingdom many centuries ago, long before the Giants invaded. But the founding king had two sons, and they argued and warred and split their father's domain apart and named themselves kings. After the Giants came though, Drangleic was much weakened. Venn more so than the others, and Castor took the opportunity to invade them and conquer his ancient rival. To add further humiliation onto his foes he imprisoned Princess Alicia in the Lost Bastille. Such a move was done to claim she was less than human; no better than the Undead that were hunted and tortured."

"You said that the prince was communicating with the princess beforehand though. How did that happen?" Erik inquired to which the former snake-woman nodded.

"I do not know how it started, but Carlyle and Alicia were exchanging notes and gifts for a long time. If they had had time, and the Giant's not invaded, it is possible the two could have ended the ancient blood feud through marriage," Mytha said, a warm smile on her lips as she remembered those long past times. It turned to a frown as she continued to remember though. "But Castor had grown bitter due to the war, and when he learned that his son was courting the princess of his arch-rival for years in secret, he flew into a rage and attacked. He used his golems and Smelter Demons to tear apart Venn and raided their knowledge. When Carlyle protested Castor beat him unconscious and locked him into his room, which was here in this tower above us."

Mytha started to climb the ladder and her comrades followed behind, Erik trying to avoid looking up as he did so. At the top was a bonfire which was a welcome sight, and they rested at it and allowed the queen to continue her tale.

"But Carlyle was clever. He built a number of tiny dolls in secret out of scraps and used them to build an enchanted bell, and to ring it. He used these chimes to communicate with his love, and secretly sent a number of his Bell Dwarves to construct one for Alicia. For years they sent sonorous love messages, while I locked myself away in my misery and the kingdom eventually fell. I feel ashamed of that. He and I were friends while I lived here. I doubt we could have had a mother-son relationship due to how close we were in age, but I did consider him one of my fellow allies and companions. I do not know what happened to either of them, and I… I want to know. I need closure."

"One of the souls I collected had memories of this. It seems he fled the tower when the lava rose and supposedly made his way to the Lost Bastille," Erik said, causing Mytha to look at the chef with a hopeful expression.

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure. It was said by a man in the robes of a magistrate who claimed as such," Erik said.

"I see. Thank you. But I still want to investigate. Maybe he left something for me behind…" Mytha rose and ascended the second ladder to the higher level, and her friends followed as well. They soon came to a cramped waiting room filled with tiny helmets. Some were dented, others burned. And sitting of a metal bench was a tiny dwarf-like man, wearing the same style of helmet and some thick leather armor. It was staring at Mytha with its mouth open, and on closer inspection the 'flesh' was just paint, with joints barely visible around the mouth and fingers.

"We ring the bell! Forever and ever! We guard it from all! Even you!" The voice of the creature was a shrill screech, and it set the Undead's teeth on edge. Mytha looked furious at the fog gate that barred her path, and looked as if she was about to strike the diminutive doll for impeding her, but it held out a letter to the queen. "A letter! A note! From the Prince for his friend! He said to give it to you and only you! We waited! We guarded! We rang the bell! Khe-heh-heh-heh!"

The dwarf cackled as Mytha took the envelope slowly as if afraid it would turn to dust as she held it. It had been laced with trace amounts of the Repair Sorcery, which was what had kept it intact all these years.

Erik and the rest wisely decided to clamber back down the ladder to the bonfire and wait for the queen to finish reading her letter in private. As they sat around the mystical spot of flames Erik whipped out some pots and pans and made a cold soup for a meal. It would have been impossible without his ice powers to chill the broth and vegetables, what with all the heat oozing from the lava just beyond the pit they hid in. Lucatile and Chloanne were glad to have something to cool them off as they ate, and all the fighting and sweating they'd done worked up an appetite.

Eventually Mytha descended from the Bell Tower, silent and with a far off look to her eyes. She gratefully accepted the bowl offered to her by the chef and she eagerly devoured her meal.

"Did you find what you needed?" Erik asked and the queen swallowed her food before replying.

"Perhaps." She played with her food for a bit before sighing. "What it wrote… none of it makes sense. He claims that… that Castor turned into a Demon."

"The soul memories claim that the Old Iron King fought one when it rose from the lava," Erik pointed out, and the two women nodded as that was the legend passed down in the mainland.

"That was a lie. Or at the very least what they saw was a mistake," Mytha said forcefully and with a bitterness in her words.

"Carlyle claimed that Sir Alonne discovered something extremely dangerous and important pertaining to the First Flame and the Monarch Candidates, and demanded that my husband meet him to discuss it. They vanished for a day, and when Castor finally returned he was badly wounded and bleeding lava," Mytha said, pulling out the note and looking it over again. "Carlyle claims that the earth itself exploded around his father as he died, the earth melting and absorbing him, and the Chaos tainting him."

"You're saying that the Old Iron King became a Demon?" Lucatiel demanded, disbelieving. The ruler of Alken was a legendary figure and his feats were told as lessons for all the knights of Mirrah to emulate. To hear he died and was morphed into a creature of Chaos was almost sacrilege to her.

"So he claims. As much as I don't want to though, I believe Carlyle. I know he would not lie about this. But there is one way to know for sure," Mytha claimed, iron will in her eyes. "We will confront him. I have no doubt that his soul is the one you seek, Erik."

"Very well then. Anything else the prince mentions we should know?" Erik asked.

"He wrote that we should 'investigate the family crypt, the answers we seek should be there,'" Mytha said, folding up the letter and sliding it into her chest cover.

"Then we know where to go." Erik cleaned up the dishes once everyone was done, and then helped Lucatiel and Chloanne up over the lip of the dip. Once they were all up and over, they headed down the ladder and reentered the face-wall room, before striding quickly across the walkways, careful to avoid the pressure plates that would drop them into the roiling sea of flames beneath them. The Alonne Knights fell to their knees as their queen passed by, and the Ironclads just fell, toppled into the lava by the advancing Undead.

Through cramped quarters and past pails of molten metal the adventurers hurried, wasting as little time as possible on the foes arrayed before them. Eventually the found what they were looking for; a hidden part of the Iron Keep's courtyard where the old kings of Alken had been buried in a sepulcher beneath a tiny shrine only the royal family could enter. Mytha had been to the shrine before, and claimed that there was a hidden room somewhere within, but even she had been forbidden to enter it.

Emerging onto the tiled roof of a part of the castle, the group found themselves staring down at the ruined remains of the royal family's shrine. Not even the roof had survived the devastation. All that was left was a pair of doorways and a single small room. A fog gate cut off access to that part where the crypt should be located. They just prayed that it was not submerged in lava.

"Let's do this!" Erik exclaimed, placing his bag down on the ground right beside the gate. The rest followed his example by putting down their baggage before they cried out in support as well and slid through the dampness that divided the area.

A veritable wall of blood lust slammed into the group, their vision going red as Erik and Chloanne fell to their knees from the mental onslaught of fury.

"Get up! Hurry!" Lucatiel cried, shaking both of them out of their stupor. As the knightess did so, Mytha remained fixed on the sea of fire before her, eyes narrowed. This pressure, this blood lust, this soul… without a doubt, it was the same as her husband Castor's, the Old Iron King of Alken.

From the bubbling stone a gargantuan figure rose. Their body was made of liquid iron, superheated and shrouded by the Chaos-fueled lava that surrounded them. The being had an elongated, inhuman face with two long horns jutting from the side of its head. It had large, leathery bat-like wings and it hands ended in razor sharp claws. The Demon glared down at the four Undead who'd intruded on its territory, its fiery gaze lingering on Mytha. It let out a low growl and stomped closer, shaking the ground with each step and sloshing lava about.

Mytha did not bother to wait for the massive Demon to approach any more, and began to shower it with all sorts of Soul Arrows and deadly Sorceries. The queen's face was set in a grim frown, yet a solitary tear flashed to steam on her cheek as she did so.

Even if he had not been the greatest husband, there were still some fond memories of him within Mytha's heart. And with the revelation from Erik about how he had tried at the very end to connect with her, the wife of the Old Iron King felt it was only fair for her to be the one to finish him off.

Erik stepped up beside her as well, recovered from the demonic essence that had slammed into him. He hurled jagged spears of magical ice at the giant form before him, and the chef smirked happily as his Reverse Pyromancy seemed to deal even more damage to the Chaos-filled lava monster than Mytha's mighty Sorceries did. Lucatiel joined in as well, flinging curved arcs of magic from her Blue Flame Sword into the now roaring Demon. Chloanne just glanced at her dinky little Throwing Knives before shrugging and tossing them at the Fog Boss.

The twisted Old Iron King staggered under the assault but raised its right hand in defiance and soon a beam of ravening heat energy lashed towards them. The four Undead threw themselves to the floor, avoiding the blast that melted away a piece of the door frame. Jumping back to their feet they saw that the fallen king had gotten much closer and was now in melee range! He smashed his fists into the ground and tried to pummel the Undead who challenged him. But the damage had already been done.

Its body was leaking glowing ichor from countless wounds, and its movements were sluggish. Erik raised his left hand, palm pointed to the Demon's face, while Mytha aimed her spear and charged up a deadly bolt of magic.

"Good bye, Castor. May you find peace in death," Mytha whispered. The Demon's eyes widened as recognition clicked in its broken mind.

" **Sooorrrrrryyyyyy** …" the Old Iron King groaned before closing its eyes and accepting the end.

The two Undead fired off their spells together, and their magic suddenly intertwined and melded into a single, new attack as they flew up at the demonic entity! Mytha's Heavy Soul Spear somehow fused with the ice, and it took on a jagged, crystal-like shape not unlike a Crystal Soul Spear but radiating an unearthly chill. The bolt of freezing Sorcery tore through the head of the beast, splitting it in twain and causing it to erupt into a fountain of glowing ichor, molten metal, lava, and souls. As well as a large, heavy iron object that thudded into the floor before their feet. The glorious white life energy rushed into the Undead and they felt their bodies swell with power and vigor. Sighs of relief at their victory went around before the earth started to shake again.

Before their astonished eyes the lava suddenly began to recede. Not by much, but the lake of the stuff dropped several feet and the gushing geysers and waterfalls of the stuff that had ringed the sunken city ceased flowing as well.

"What just happened? Did we just… cure Alken or something?" Lucatiel inquired, utterly bewildered. Erik, Chloanne and Mytha just shrugged.

Like with the Lost Sinner, two massive souls appeared. One was red and black, throbbing with the taint of Chaos but still retaining a faded luster of gold to it. The second, larger soul was like a little bonfire that pulsed and throbbed to an unseen heartbeat, and gave off a feeling similar to the faded Ember in Erik's possession. They both entered the chef, and he closed his eyes, ready to glean the memories.

In the woods around Alken a young man, barely out of his teens, trained with a wooden sword. He had straight hair, iron grey in color. In spite of his youth the boy was over six feet tall and rippling with muscles. He grunted with exertion, before throwing the training weapon to the ground.

"Useless! What good is practicing with a flimsy shard of tree?! Why does father insist?"

"There is much that can be learned from training, even with a simple tool such as that." A voice with a lilting accent broke through the trees accompanied by a laugh.

The young man jumped in surprise and spun to face the man who'd snuck up on him, fists raised in a brawler's stance.

"Who goes there?!"

Out of the shadows of the trees a tall man stepped out, clad in exotic armor and with a curved sword at his side. He had his hands raised in a placating gesture to show he meant no harm.

"I did not mean to startle you, young sir! I am merely a wandering swordsman from a land far to the east. I saw you were having difficulties training, and thought I could help."

"Oh? And how could a nameless foreigner possible teach me anything?" The boy sneered. The man just laughed, removing his helmet. The face beneath was only a few years older than the boy's, with dark black hair and slanted eyes.

"Give me your wooden sword and I will show you." The grey haired youth stared at the newcomer warily before tossing the blade to him. The traveler caught it deftly, and gave it a twirl. He smacked a tree with his foot, shaking leaves from its branches. Suddenly, the man's arm flickered and became a blur, and the leaves were shorn in two equal sized pieces!

The young man stared in shock at the swordsman's actions, picking up one of the sliced leaves.

"How… how did you do this? Who are you?"

"Simply years of practice. As for my name, I am called Alonne."

The grey haired man turned eyes filled with iron onto the foreign blade master with an appraising look.

"Greetings, Alonne. I am Castor Dominik Valn Tark II, Crown Prince of Alken. And I want your blade and your skills!"

The memory shifted, time blurring past in an incomprehensible mess of colors.

King Castor stared down at the white sheet that was now stained with blood. He fell to his knees and wept, cradling the remains of his wife, who'd been crushed to death by the sudden, abrupt invasion of Drangleic by the Giants.

"My lord, there is news from the front lines. Shieldless Lothian under King Vendrick's command has been slain. The Giant King himself brought him low," a tall armored man said, stepping next to the equally massive iron grey haired king. This man was clad in outlandish armor and carried a long katana that even while sheathed shimmered with magic.

"Sir Alonne… leave me." Castor pleaded, still clutching his wife's remains.

"My lord, your men need you! Your kingdom needs you! If the Giants are left unchecked their rampage will claim more lives! Do you want Queen Talia to know her husband abandoned the people he is sworn to protect because he was crying when he should be fighting?!"

Castor roared in anger and lashed out at Sir Alonne with a massive gilded hammer, carved from solid Titanite and inlaid with enchanted metals. The Far Eastern knight leapt back from the blow.

"WHERE ARE THEY?! I WILL GRIND THEM INTO THE DIRT!" The Old Iron King shouted, screaming in blood lust.

The memories shifted again, and the Old Iron King was alone, beaten and bruised. His elegant armor was shattered and he bled from dozens of wounds while his arm hung limply at his side. He stood in bitingly cold wind atop a rocky mountain, surrounded by the corpses of dozens of his men and several Giants.

"Is… that… all?" Castor snarled. When nothing answered, he staggered away, muttering to himself about vengeance and death. He froze and spun around, having sensed a dark force approach. He raised his hammer to smash his attacker, but a meek cry halted his blow. A young woman in tattered black robes cowered beneath him, trembling in fear.

"Who are you?" Castor asked, confused. To his eyes this woman was beautiful, with pale ivory skin and soft black hair, but thin and frail. But to his Soul Sense, he saw a gargantuan writhing mass of Darkness, hungry and untamed. Ready to devour and absorb and smother. But there was an overwhelming sense of Loneliness radiating from her.

"I-I am Nadalia. I saw your fight, and I wanted to tend your wounds," the thin woman whispered. She showed him a vial of Divine Blessing and rolls of poultice smeared bandages to prove her words.

"What are you?" Castor demanded next. The woman looked as if she wanted to keep it a secret, but looking into the piercing grey eyes of the Old Iron King, she relented.

"I am a Daughter of the Dark. I am Loneliness," Nadalia admitted, and something stirred in the empty heart of the warrior king.

One final time, the memories shuddered and shook, and then there was Castor, staggering up the stairs of the crypt, clutching a gaping wound where his heart should have been. His clothes were torn and wounds dotted his body. He worn no crown on his head, and instead had a mad gleam in his eyes. Instead of blood, glowing orange fluid dripped from between his fingers and from his wounds, sizzling as they struck the ground.

"Na…dalia…" He groaned, pulling himself out of the secret room and through the temple. "Must… protect…"

He staggered out into the sunlight of Alken, collapsing to his knees.

"Why… Alonne… This is… not how… it should have ended," He whispered, falling onto his face. He was vaguely aware that the ground was shaking, and it was becoming unbearably hot. He gasped out in pain, turning his eyes to the lone Bell Tower above him in the distance.

"Carlyle… Mytha… what a fool I have been." He closed his eyes and felt his flesh combust. He let fire replace his blood, and iron become his flesh. He offered no resistance to the whispers of the Vile Worm as Chaos filled his mind. He was already dead inside. Always had been since the day his beloved Talia died, and the weak rekindled spark of life that had appeared when Nadalia appeared was snuffed out as his Bride of Ash was cut down by his best friend.

Castor's memories vanished and soon Erik was filled with something unfathomably ancient.

A tall, elegant man crowned with Sunlight stepped before a blazing inferno that spanned the entire world. He removed a flickering glob of energy; a Soul of Light, a gift of the First Flame.

The Solar King and First God rained lightning upon a sky darkened by stone scaled Dragons. His divine bolts tore away their armored skin and they fell, slain. Beside him the Witch of Life brandished her powers to incinerate the Arch-trees while the First Corpse created souls and life within the weakened Ancient Dragons for it to reap.

The First Flame faded and weakened. The Witch had tried and failed to find a solution. Now her Chaos swept across the land, birthing Demons. His Silver Knights fought and fought, their armor turning black with ash and soot. But it was only a stop gap. The Primordial Serpents whispered secrets to him. An answer to rekindle the First Flame and save the world from the Darkness. The Solar King entrusted the fate of the world to his youngest child while he perished to preserve the source of reality for just a little longer. He had to have faith that Mankind would find a way. The Fire must be linked. All Four Lord Souls must be gathered together one more time. _Vereor Nox_!

The memories faded, and the souls integrated with the Monarch Candidate, giving him great power and a sense of purpose.

Shaking off the effects of two new souls, Erik bent down to pick up the item that had fallen, cooling it off with a gust of freezing wind from his left hand.

It was insanely heavy; it had to weigh at least ten pounds! The artifact was a simple looking key but huge and solid, likely cut from an entire ingot of pure iron. Potent enchantments were melded with the key, infusing it and likely the reason it had not been dissolved by the heat and lava even after all these years.

"Do you recognize this?" Erik asked, showing it to Mytha. The queen just shook her head.

"No, never. Perhaps it fits something down in the family mausoleum?"

With no other leads to go on, the Undead ventured around the corner of the ruined temple and entered the tiny antechamber where a chest and a descending flight of stairs awaited them.

"What did you see when you took my husband's soul?" Mytha asked as they descended, waiting as Erik stopped to ignite a Primal Bonfire hidden in the crypt. Surrounded by the tombs of ancient lords and ladies, Erik pondered on how best to state what he witnessed.

"I saw him meet Alonne, and then him mourning his wife's death. Finally I saw him die. He… he claimed it was done by Sir Alonne." Omitting the part where the Old Iron King met the bizarre woman Nadalia, Erik looked away as Mytha's face fell.

"But… Sir Alonne was loyal to Castor! He would never betray him!"

"I'm sorry, Mytha. But that is what he claimed. I did not see anything else." Erik refused to meet the second queen's eyes. He had seen the person who stole his heart a second time, and kept him from loving the young woman beside him. Of all the things he did not want to reveal, most of all the chef did not want to tell his new friend about the unholy lady of Darkness who had indirectly ruined her marriage.

"Did he at least think of me and Carlyle before he died?" Mytha asked, practically begging. At this Erik turned to her and looked into her eyes.

"Yes," Erik said simply. Mytha smiled sadly and turned away. She thought all her tears had been shed by now. To her surprise, a few more managed to drip down her cheeks.

"What's over here?" Chloanne asked, breaking the mood. Erik and Mytha glanced over to where the ore trader and the knight stood, facing a room filled with graves and a large, hideous altar.

It looked like a round bowl-like surface, with three headless serpents coiled around it. To their shock, it was all made of Titanite, and seemingly a single massive piece of it, based on the lack of joints and connecting pieces.

"What is this thing?" Lucatiel wondered. The object practically thrummed with Darkness and was both tantalizing and repulsive.

Surrounding the altar were several large slabs, also made of Titanite and engraved with delicate text.

"This is… Lore Script!" Erik exclaimed, peering at the closest large tile. Seeing the confused looks of his comrades, his explained its significance.

"Lore Script is the language Lindelt uses to write its holy scriptures, and is the tongue spoken with blessings and rituals. Furthermore most of the oldest Miracles are written in this ancient script! It is the oldest known writing style in the world! Supposedly it originated here, in Drangleic, and was spoken by the gods!"

"What does it say?" Chloanne asked eagerly, and the chef squinted at the words.

"I know some, and it seems fairly basic… *ahem~!* 'Forbidden is the path to the Ancient King's Domain,'" Erik read aloud, eyes tracing over the lines and symbols and moving from one plate to the next. "'With water dry, and path amiss, Woeful Temptation is dismissed. Trespassers will face adversity befitting a Monarch. In Tower of Old Iron King resides a Child of Dark.'"

"Is that it?" Mytha asked when he stopped reading. Erik nodded, just as confused, and looked around the room.

"Yes, it is. The translation is shaky at best, though. The word for 'water' can also be used to describe 'life,' 'souls,' or 'time' depending on the context. The oddest part is that all of them seem to fit. The way the sentences are conjugated and arranged make it look deliberate and not just a case of bad spelling," Erik mused, running a hand over the slab. It was cool to the touch, and the glossy black material felt strangely soft yet hard.

"And that altar thing?" Lucatiel pressed, still unnerved by the centerpiece. Erik turned a frown onto it, also feeling the unease it radiated, but for some reason several of his souls throbbed when he looked at it as if yearning to enter the bowl.

"Well, snakes are often described as 'Imperfect Dragons' by Lindelt scripture, and they symbolize Greed, Gluttony, and Envy," Erik said, racking his brain to remember the old tales and texts of his homeland. "And statues deliberately without heads often represent Ignorance or, if of a person, one who turned to Dark magic or heresy. Finally, the last piece of the puzzle is this; 'Vereor Nox,' an old, old prayer spoken by high ranked Clerics."

Here, Erik pointed out those words which had been scrawled into the bowl's rim, encircling the entire altar.

"It can be translated a variety of ways, from 'I fear' to 'the night is feared,' but the best and most accurate one is 'I, the Darkness, fear myself.'"

"What does that mean?" Chloanne inquired and the chef merely shrugged.

"No idea. A theory states that it refers to the sins of mankind or those belonging to the utterer. Others believe it refers to some long lost legend. No one is sure though. But for it to be here, I think I can safely assume whatever lies beyond is very dangerous, and very old."

"Does this mean that Lindelt is responsible for all of these things in here?" Mytha asked, curious. The chef thought about it for a minute before shaking his head.

"Most likely not. Many of Lindelt's rites and practices were taken from those of Shulva, the Sunken Kingdom. Lindelt was founded by refugees of that nation which once resided here in Drangleic, and it is likely the people of Shulva took those teachings from some other place. Plus, despite the impressive condition of everything, this all feels ancient. As if whoever made it did so millennia past."

"What now, then?" Lucatiel asked.

"I don't know. The souls in me are resonating with the altar, so maybe I should touch it…" Erik mused, reaching out. Before anyone could tell the Undead chef how bad an idea that was, a bluish white flame sprang to life in the center of the bowl and leapt out, flooding the room and wrapping around the people present. With a sickening lurch not unlike the transportation effects of the bonfires, Erik and his companions were dragged across leagues, before being deposited in a dimly lit catacomb.

Woozy from the sudden stop, Erik felt bile rise to his mouth but held it in.

"Where are we?" He gagged out, his tongue still stained with the acidic taste of his lunch coming to greet them.

"I have no idea," Mytha admitted, looking around. "But I feel something. And it is old and Dark…"

 ** _Author's Note: The bit about the meaning/translation of 'Vereor Nox' came from a very interesting post on the Dark Souls wiki by an Anonymous poster. It is very interesting, and should definitely be checked out. Just type in 'Vereor Nox' into Google and it should be the first or second result._**


	23. Chapter 23: An Ashen Bride

Chapter 23: An Ashen Bride

The area the four Undead travelers found themselves in well-built and enduring, only the tiniest hints of age creeping in. A second black bowl-altar ringed by three headless serpents lay behind them while in front was a pair of massive iron doors up a short flight of steps, with two smaller chambers to the left and right. These were filled with sixteen graves and tombstone-like artifacts, eight in each room. Nothing but a faint tingle of distorted magic could be felt, yet there were no messages or symbols from White or Orange Soapstones.

Reaching the two large and heavy doors, the team looked in awe at the craftsmanship. It looked like iron, but could have been some other unknown metal. On its surface were numerous symbols and sigils, but three pairs of pictures held their gaze; A four legged beast with spikes emerging from its back. A person holding a staff in one hand and a praying figure in the other. A robed entity expelling a cloud of magic or some such substance from their hand. These three images were bold and though crude carried a ferocious dignity. They seemed to have a story to tell, but none left alive could likely remember it.

The sealed door caused a reaction in the Old Iron King's soul, and the Undead chef winced as it clamored at him. Obeying the call, Erik reached into his pouch and hefted the solid Iron Key left behind by the Old Iron King and slotted it into an opening on the door. Turning it in the lock, a resounding click and thud shook the air, and Erik placed his hands on it. To his surprise the door opened easily, hardly as heavy as it first seemed.

On the other side was a single elevator. Squeezing all four of them onto it was hard, and Erik constantly worried he'd fall off as he was the one closest to the edge. When it finally came to a halt, the chef sighed in relief, only for his breath to catch in his throat. He was not the only one stunned.

They were high in the air, towering above the clouds and able to see for countless miles around them. Below the earth was the cracked stained red with the lava that had drowned Alken. From up high it was hard to tell if the molten earth had receded at all, and bright dots of flames burned in the smog and twilight. Most astonishing of all was the gargantuan tower that rose before them, a mighty edifice of iron and stone. Thick, bronze colored chains connected it to three other smaller, lesser towers, surrounded by mountains that were small and feeble compared to the tower in the middle.

"Brume Tower!" Mytha gasped, recognizing the famous landmark. The pride of the Old Iron King, it was the largest foundry, smelting furnace, and forge in the entire world, where literal tons of iron, steel, and other metals were processed each day. Claimed from Venn, which had been the fallen kingdom's source of power, when the Old Iron King invaded this was the first place to fall.

"It's amazing," Chloanne breathed, awed at the sight of the greatest industrial facility in all of history. Even Erik and Lucatiel, both far less impressed by matters of blacksmithing, were silenced by the overwhelming power of industry before them.

"We just traveled hundreds of miles in an instant," Mytha breathed, looking out at the sight before her. "It would take a week by horse or carriage to reach this place, but here we are!"

"I see stairs over here. Come on, let's go!" Erik eagerly said, his thoughts conjuring all sorts of treasures to find and sights to see. The threat of whatever evil lurked here was put on hold for more important matters of exploration.

As they ascended, a number of unusual corpses started to appear. Each was clad in sturdy steel armor complete with helmet, and armed with flambergs and heavy crossbows. They looked familiar to Erik, but it was Mytha who identified them.

"These are Royal Soldiers of Drangleic! King Vendrick's men!" The Queen of Alken exclaimed, staring at the bodies in surprise. Erik did a double take, and indeed they did seem similar to the Hollowed soldiers he'd seen wandering the ruined Castle in the woods, but with their armor in much better condition. Some bodies seemed to have been frozen, others scorched. All were dead though and he was unsure as to why they'd even been up here. Mytha too seemed perplexed by this. Perhaps Vendrick had sought to claim this great marvel of engineering for himself when Alken fell.

At the top the dead Royal Soldiers surrounded a creature seemingly frozen solid in ice, with six large, raw looking stakes of fire-blackened Titanite impaled in it. They carried a powerful enchantment within, and the four Undead adventurers plucked them from the statuesque being which crumbled to powdered snow from the removal.

"So, any ideas on how to cross?" Erik asked, looking across to where the Tower of Brume stood, many of its forges still blazing away definitely in spite of the destruction around it. The only way he saw to cross one of the thick, heavy bronze chains that connected their smaller tower to the main one. Mytha looked over the edge and tsked her tongue.

"The chains used to have a cart system that moved materials and people to and from. It looks like the cart for this section has been destroyed." She pointed at something and Erik risked a glance to see what she pointed at. Below, the shattered and twisted remains of a metal box-like container lay in on a snow stained ledge.

"How do we get across them?" Lucatiel asked and Mytha frowned before a sly smirk crossed her lips.

"We'll walk." The three shorter Undead stared at the queen with looks that ranged to confused to incredulous. Mytha just chuckled and walked over to the chain before stepping onto it and walking across.

"What are you waiting for? If we go slow and steady we can make it safely to the other side," Mytha called out, hands on hips in a taunting pose.

Erik, Lucatiel, and Chloanne shared a look. The chain was old, had been neglected for centuries, and was covered in a thick coating of frost from the altitude. Oh, and not to mention the gale like winds that tore across them this high up. One misstep or a strong enough breeze would send them plummeting to their death. Sure, they'd revive at a bonfire, but it would still hurt! And then they'd still have to try and cross again later!

"Don't worry! Here, let me help!" Mytha called out and raised her spear. A blue glow wrapped around her companion's boots, and the Undead looked at their feet gormlessly, not understanding what had happened.

"There you go! A modification of the Fall Control Sorcery, 'Sure Step.' No matter how you walk, you won't fall off of anything as long as that spell lasts."

"This is the second time I've seen someone modify Fall Control for an interesting side effect," Erik mused, testing the queen's claims by stepping up onto the chain. His boots stuck to the metal and held fast, but when he went to lift his foot to take a step it came away easily while his balance remained perfect.

"Oh? What spell was it?"

"Super Jump, a Sorcery used by Carhillion of the Fold, a Melfian sorcerer Lucatiel and I met. Instead of falling slowly, he could jump up very high and very fast," Erik revealed, and Mytha nodded in understanding.

"You certainly are an interesting person, making friends with someone so powerful and influential. I've only met one of Melfia's upper hierarchy before, and he didn't come off as open or friendly."

"He came to Drangleic weary of his peers' power struggles. Carhillion is very intelligent and eager to teach. I think you two could get along well," Lucatiel said kindly, following behind Erik up onto the bronze links. Chloanne was the last one to join them on the chain, after revealing a fear of heights to her friends.

"Is this yet another reason you dislike Gilligan?" Erik teased, and the ore trader flushed at the mention of the Laddersmith.

"No comment," she muttered through clenched teeth. A ripple of small chuckles were lost to the ripping winds on the chain, and the Undead moved onwards, slowly and steadily towards Brume Tower.

It took a little more than half an hour, and the whole situation had been nerve wracking, even for Mytha though she hid it much more easily. The Sure Step spell did its job well, and the only actual threat was the biting cold wind. That said, all of them were relieved to slump down in front of a bonfire at the very top of the gargantuan tower.

"This part used to be a clock tower," Mytha said sadly, looking around the broken gears and springs that littered the area. "You could see the face and hear the bells even in Alken."

The queen suddenly tensed, and spun to look at something in the distance of the ruined tower top. Erik did so as well, a strange tingly feeling rippling in his left hand and his collection of souls. The knightess and ore trader did not sense anything but got into a battle stance all the same when they saw their magically attuned comrades become wary.

"Something is coming," Mytha said, and she was soon proved right as something large and burning erupted out of the thick layer of ash and snow several feet away.

It looked like the torso of a woman, but one made of flaming coal and shadows. She had her mouth open is a scream, emitting a sizzling roar and her talon tipped arms flailed as if she wanted to ward the Undead away from her and the stairs leading into the tower.

"Welcome Darling, you've come! Come to me! Come quickly! Let me surround you, let me surround you, please don't go." Words rippled out from the bizarre entity, a voice brushing against their minds. It was a mixture of hissing steam and sensuality, with a hint of longing. "I waited so long for you, it was unbearable, my dear. Where were you? Oh, it doesn't matter. As long as you're here."

"Are you Nadalia?" Erik gasped, the voice familiar to him. Or at least, to a particular soul in his possession. While his friends looked at the chef as if he was mad the creature stopped its undulation, as if confused as to why he would have to ask her name.

"Castor? Is that not you?"

Mytha's breathe hitched in her throat and she took a step back in shock. As for Erik, he took a step forward.

"No, I am not. My name is Erik Potts of Lindelt. The Old Iron King is dead."

"MURDERER!" Nadalia's avatar screamed, and the snow around her flashed to steam as a ripple of flame lashed out.

"He was wounded by Sir Alonne and then tainted by Chaos! He became a Demon and had to be put down!" Erik desperate tried to explain, but the creature before them refused to listen.

"LIAR! Castor said he would be fine! He promised me! He loved me! He…"

"You bitch!" Mytha suddenly shouted, drawing her spear and thrusting it at the face of the Ashen Idol. "Because of you, my life was ruined!"

"Who are you to speak to me like this?!" Nadalia growled, and the Queen of Alken rose to her full height, buoyed by righteous anger.

"I am Mytha Shevara Nolmestris Helanvi, eldest child of King Radavire III, crown princess of Jugo, and queen of Alken," the tall woman stated, stressing the 'queen' part of her name.

However, instead of shouting in rage, or denying Mytha's status, the burning effigy of Nadalia fell silent, only the pop and snap of fire to be heard. Then, before their eyes the fire shrunk in on its self and the torso of the woman suddenly threw herself flat in a position of prostration.

"I am sorry! Please, forgive me!"

The four Undead all blinked in surprise and confusion. What? Why was she apologizing?

"Castor told me about you, how he always regretted not being able to give you the love you deserved," Nadalia wept, her form more human and her voice losing the crackle and spit of flames. "He didn't know what to do, or how to act around you. Please, forgive me for stealing his heart! I did not mean to hurt you!"

"What are you… how can… explain!" Mytha shouted, desperate for answers. The Ashen Idol nodded in compliance.

"I shall. I shall reveal everything I can," Nadalia said, head still bowed. "I first met Castor…"

"After he slew a band of Giants in these very mountains," Erik chimed in. Seeing the looks shot at him, he explained. "When I absorbed his soul, I saw some things. One of those was his first encounter with you, Nadalia. You had apparently been stalking him and wanted to heal him of his wounds."

"That is true. I was drawn to the brightness of his soul and so desperately wanted to be near him. To something like me, the light of a mighty soul is more alluring than anything you can possibly imagine," Nadalia said, sparing a glance for the chef. "As I tended to him and ministered his wounds, he poured his heart out to me, and I did the same in turn. I told him that he was destined for great things. And after a few days alone in the mountains, he admitted he was starting to fall for me."

"But his love for me could not be. Though my sisters might manage to briefly take lovers, I cannot. By my very nature, companionship is denied to me. And a king cannot have a woman who will not rule by his side or even show her face to the people. It was decided we would have to love each other in secret."

"What does that even mean? Why can you not have love, or have stood beside him? And why then would he accept my father's marriage proposal if he had you, however secret your liaisons may have been?!" Mytha all but screamed, and the monstrous figure shivered.

"Heh, look at me, acting like Alsana…" Erik heard Nadalia mumble under her breath.

"To answer the last part of your question, it was I who suggested that Castor marry you. He needed a queen, and a strong ally that would help his land rebuild. Jugo was the perfect place for such an alliance and your beauty was already quite famous even in Drangleic. I hoped that maybe in time he could have come to love you and then forget me. It was for the best, or so I thought. But I misjudged his devotion to me. He could not offer his feelings to you because he had given himself fully to me," Nadalia explained. "In time, his intimacy with me became known, especially after the Giants were defeated. Rumors are endless, and of course spies prowl every court looking for secrets. I tried time and again to convince Castor to leave me and dedicate himself to you, Queen Mytha. But he did not. And, as ashamed as I am to say it, I grew to love his attentions. I wanted to keep him all to myself. And that was just the start of my downfall."

"And as for the first question, it is a hard thing to explain…"

"Loneliness." Again, Erik interrupted, and this time the Ashen Idol looked up fully at Erik, scrutinizing the Undead. Whatever she saw in him satisfied her, and she nodded in agreement.

"Yes, you are correct. I am not a human. Nor am I a god or a demon. I am a being born of the pure essence of the Darkness and Humanity combined. One of five siblings created by the sundering of the Primeval Man, and the embodiment of father's Loneliness; I am Nadalia, the Bride of Ash."  
"You…" Mytha uttered, stunned. Lucatiel and Chloanne shared the queen's state of shock. Only Erik remained unsurprised. Manus, the Primeval Man. A legend that predated any known kingdom, but persisted across ages. The primogenitor of all mankind, but betrayed and corrupted by the Darkness. An impossible tale. But one that Erik apparently believed.

"I've seen you. Or at least, three others beside you in the memories of my souls. A woman of Wrath who sang to a dragon. A woman of Want who worked with Aldia to create monsters and stole the children of the Giants. And a woman of Fear, who guarded Chaos with the Ivory King," Erik said, folding his arms and looking straight at the Ashen Idol.

"I didn't know who or what they were, and to be honest I still don't. Can you explain to me who they are and what this all means? What is your purpose? What is your connection to the Monarch Candidates?"

Nadalia sighed like a steam whistle, and looked to the chef with empty sockets.

"I will do my best. But please, let me speak to the queen, first. I must explain things to her. Plus, what I say to her relates to your own questions."

Erik nodded in understanding and shot Mytha a comforting smile. She returned it weakly and with a thankful nod of her head before turning back to the so-called Bride of Ash.

"So… the title of yours…?"

"Was always mine, even before I met the Old Iron King. That it connects with his own moniker is mere coincidence. Or perhaps fate," Nadalia assured. "As for his union with you, I thought it would help him. I am ancient, and not a good long term romantic partner. My very existence is a cursed one. The 'Loneliness' I embody means I will instinctively drive others away. Animals flee my presence, mortals become repulsed and seek to hurt me. Yet Castor was unique. He was a reincarnation of a very old and powerful being, and his soul was more than human; It carried a hint of divinity within it. The boy has seen it, no doubt. The Solar King's essence was reborn into Castor, but he was his own person. Yet that soul of his allowed Castor to resist my natural aura, and remain close to me."

"Years passed, and I remained hidden yet by his side. I helped Castor's work where I could by crafting powerful artifacts for him. His crown was something I made, and when the Tower of Brume was built it became my personal workshop. I made the Smelter Demons. I oversaw the production of Blacksteel. I ensured the works of my beloved endured. And I found love for the first time in my life. It was selfish of me, I suppose. My attempts to make Castor love you instead dwindled and became token. But I was careless. I'd spent so long around Castor that I began to forget about my… 'Condition.' In a moment of personal folly I wandered the halls of the Tower without taking the proper precautions and Sir Alonne discovered me, and saw me for what I was." Nadalia trembled at the memory.

"Confronting Castor, he demanded that I die. He claimed, not wrongly, that I am a monster connected to the Curse of the Undead. Sir Alonne was one of the few who was privy to the details about the First Flame, the Curse's origins, and the nature of the threats that waited for it to fade. In the end it came to blows. Dear friends forced to fight to the death. Castor should have let me die. But he could not." Nadalia shook her head and her voice became bitter.

"Sir Alonne wounded me badly. He cut my soul into eleven pieces and scattered them around the Tower during his duel with Castor. He was eventually struck down but dealt a hefty wound to my dear lover in the process. He must have thought I was slain, and fled in despair. And I should have been slain. But I came into possession of the Crown I'd forged, and its magic sustained me. Now, I can communicate beyond my own body through my soul fragments. But I am weak, an constantly lessening in power. In time I will perish and my magic will go out of control. Perhaps this is my penance. But I fear what will happen, for I have been able to hold back the Chaos that flooded this land, and when I fade it will run rampant."

"How can we help?" Everyone stared at Mytha, even Nadalia.

"You… you would help me restore myself? Even after knowing it is because of my actions you were alone and unloved?" the Bride of Ash asked, unbelieving. The former Chaos-twisted woman nodded.

"I do not like you, and I doubt I can forgive you for many things, but from what I understand it was my husband's fault he was unable to devote himself to me. You were the object of his desire, but you at least tried to turn him aside and back to me. And if you die, Erik's questions will go unanswered. And as his friend, I am invested in all of his wants and needs," Mytha explained, an odd emphasis on 'friend' as she looked at Erik. The Ashen Idol smiled, or at looked like it did, and turned to Erik.

"To save me, you must destroy these Ashen Idols of mine and retrieve the pieces of my souls within. But only very specific items can properly destroy these avatars to release the soul. Very old and powerful weapons could do it, but the best choice you have is to use Smelter Wedges. They are tools I made to create Smelter Demons, used to nail the soul of a Giant to its altered body but can also be used to push a soul out of something. You already have some. Simply stab it into the heart of these Ashen Idols and my Soul Shard should be imbedded on the Wedge, where it can be taken and stored." The Undead nodded at her instructions, following along. "Once you've gathered all eleven, come find me in the Tower's throne room. I reside there. The guardians of the Tower should not bother you as long as you do not attack them. They are all under my dominion."

"As for your question, young Erik, I will answer what I can. The figures you saw were my sisters. Elana, Squalid Queen, embodying father's Wrath. All of his hate resides in her. She was queen of Shulva once, guarding a terrible Dragon that was twisted by both Chaos and Darkness. Even now she hides in the ruins, keeping Sinh locked in enchanted slumber. Then, there is Alsana, the Silent Oracle, who is father's Fear. Out of all of us, she is the kindest and despises conflict. She willingly chose to spend her life sealing the source of Chaos, keeping the majority of it from seeping out. Last of my sisters is Nashandra, Regent of Avarice. She is the embodiment of father's Want. All that Manus desired now pushes her ever onward. I believe you know her as the wife of King Vendrick." The last name caused ripples of surprise to flicker through the Undead and Nadalia smiled.

"Surprising, is it not? To know one of my kin sat so close to the center of power and influenced so much? She was always the most ambitious. Nashandra wants to end the Age of Fire and usher in a new era, one of Darkness in order to avenge our father. Unlike her though, the rest of us do not want that. While we may have wanted so before, now all of us, even Elana, see that the world is much more interesting while alive and vibrant with light. If Darkness claims the world, it will be boring."

"Oh, and the last of my siblings is my dearest brother, Barnabas the Darklurker, embodiment of father's Protectiveness. You likely have not seen him in your souls because he hides in the Darkness keeping it at bay and 'encouraging' those who seek the Dark to turn away," Nadalia said, finally finished introducing her family though the last person seemed thrown in as if an afterthought.

"And your relation to the Curse and the Monarchs?" Erik demanded. Nadalia was silent before replying.

"I cannot tell you. Not now." Before Erik could protest, the Idol held up a hand to forestall him.

"Let me explain! I would if I could, but there are rules even I must obey. Steps to follow. Until you have completed certain restrictions and tasks and obtained specific items I am literally incapable of telling you anything. Old magic and oaths bind the tongues of me and my siblings. But I can give you a hint. If you want to know the truth behind the Curse of the Undead, you must collect four crowns that were made by me and my sisters. Each contains a portion of our powers, and if collected can allow you to force us to tell you what we know. These, when combined with the four Lord Soul fragments you have already begun to gather, will answer your questions. But until that time, my lips are sadly sealed."

Erik looked angry for a moment, but then he sighed in defeat and nodded.

"I'll hold you to that, Miss Nadalia. First I must free you though. And the crown you spoke of is the key to all of that." He turned to his comrades and motioned to the stairs.

"Come on ladies. Let's go grab a crown and stab some statues."

Before they left though Mytha jammed one of the Smelter Wedges into the Ashen Idol in front of them, collecting the Bride of Ash's soul fragment from its remains. Erik and the others would not call her out on this, but they were certain they saw a vindictive smile on the queen's lips as she did so.

 ** _Author's Note: In Hebrew, Barnabas is a name that means 'Son of Consolation/Comfort' or 'Son of the Prophet,' which I thought was fitting for what I imagine the Darklurker to be; a guardian who keeps foolish mortals out of the corrupting powers of the Dark. Why else would the Pilgrims of the Abyss, people who worship the Dark, fight him? Because he keeps them out when they want in. It also works in the naming sense because the name of Elana, one of Manus' children, is a derivative of 'Ilana' which is a female Hebrew name, and means 'Tree.' Also fitting seeing how Elana is like a giant rotten mess of roots when you encounter her in Shulva._**

 ** _As far as I can tell, 'Nadalia,' 'Alsana,' and 'Nashandra' have no direct name comparison, though 'Nadalia' sounds like 'Natalia,' but that doesn't make a lot of sense here because that name means 'Christmas Day.' So, I'm just working with what I've got._**


	24. Chapter 24: An Ashen Mistress

Chapter 24: An Ashen Mistress

True to Nadalia's words, the various Hollows and golems that filled Brume Tower did nothing to the four Undead travelers. In some instances the Ash Bride's thralls cleared their path by unlocking doors, moving rubble, and standing in front of traps and other such dangers. Erik and his team were even allowed to plunder the chests and various items that littered the floors of the ruined structure as they smashed Ashen Idols.

To the chef's surprise he came across a large great sword that was familiar to him, and which Lucatiel later confirmed as being the legendary blade once wielded by Gorin of Forossa. Erik took the weapon and looked forward to seeing the expression of surprise on his friend in the Blue Sentinels. Privately the Undead cook wondered if Gorin had ever been to the Tower himself, or if the person who'd claimed it from the Undead mercenary had perished in these walls.

Mytha was silent throughout the entire trip, only nods, shrugs, and sighs her means of communication. She was still reeling from the revelations Nadalia had given to them. So were Erik and the other two women, though Lucatiel and Chloanne were more mystified than anything else. They understood that there was something big behind the Curse and the previous lords of Drangleic, but only the chef had a direct stake in it all. The knightess and ore trader were both worried for Erik. He had become a dear friend and companion to them, and neither wanted to lose him or see him suffer.

Lucatiel had sworn her sword to Erik's service and purpose. She would not let anything hurt the kind young man. She owed him much, more than she could ever really convey.

Chloanne too was determined to help the chef, but knew it could not come from her skill at arms. Her time traveling with the two - then three- other Undead had shown the young merchant just how weak she truly was. Her Work Hook and knives were good against the average Hollow or lesser beast of Drangleic, but against the Demons, eldritch war machines, and twisted monsters of this land? She was useless.

At first, the ore trader had thought she was the equal of the chef. Sure he had Pyromancy and decent aim and skill handling knives, but she was physically stronger than him. Her eyes were opened when Chloanne saw the soft spoken and kind chef weave tapestries of deadly fire and perform the lost art of Cryomancy to defeat Hollows and Demons and Golems alike.

Furthermore, compared to Lucatiel, her combat skills were dull and minimal. A knife fighter could defender herself from a mugger in the streets of a city, but the knight of Mirrah could heft that great sword as if it were nothing and cleave numerous foes in twain. She was strong, noble, and, if the ore trader admitted, attractive in a tomboyish way.

Then there was their most recent party member; Queen Mytha of Alken. When they had first run into the Chaos tainted queen, Chloanne had thought she would be defeated like the other foes. To her shock, Erik was not only able to reason with her into not attacking them, but also to restore her human form. And to put it bluntly, Mytha was gorgeous. She was sensual, had amazing looks and generous 'assets,' and was unbelievably powerful and skilled with Sorcery. How could Chloanne, a simple commoner and ore trader, match up to her?

These thought plagued Chloanne ever since the queen had decided to join them. What could she provide to help them? Chloanne wanted to assist Erik more than anything, and she fully knew her martial prowess was not necessary to the chef. Her only answer was as humble as it was humbling; to provide Erik, Lucatiel, and Mytha with Titanite and other forging components. This was all she knew. It was all Chloanne had ever been good at. So this was her purpose, the young merchant decided as she followed in the wake of three heroes. To help them in the only way she could.

When she returned to Majula, she'd have to swallow her pride and speak with her father about this. She only hoped he would be more inclined to help her now that she was planning to no longer head out on adventurers.

"Everything alright?" Chloanne's musings came to an end as Erik's voice broke into her thoughts, and she stiffened a bit in surprise. When she realized all was well and they were not under attack, she relaxed and gave the cook an apologetic smile.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking about father and what I'll do back in Majula," Chloanne said, omitting some of her other worries and thoughts. Erik nodded, accepting the young woman's words and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulders.

"You'll do just fine, Chloanne. Your father will no doubt be glad to see you again, and you can probably do a bit of exploring with Carhillion if you get the itch to wander again," Erik said kindly. She nodded and accepted his advice while privately wondering if it would be that easy. Further conversation was cut off when Nadalia's voice whispered out to them from the walls.

"Beyond these doors lies my dear guardian and my final shard. He'll stand down and let you in to the throne room, but try to avoid provoking him. His mind is mostly gone and is near to Hollowing."

"We'll do our best," Erik promised, looking to the ceiling as he replied. They had gathered eleven of Nadalia's soul fragments from the Tower, shattering her Ashen Idols to retrieve them. Their mission was almost over.

Stepping through the fog gate that lay in the hidden cave below the Tower, the group came face to face with the final and greatest guardian of the Bride of Ash.

The person was tall, standing over ten feet tall and radiating a shimmering malice and distrust. He was clad in armor not dissimilar to the Royal Soldier armor of Drangleic, but modified and colored black and dark blue. A ragged, navy blue cloak stained dark with soot and ash fluttered weakly in the air, while two swords were clutched in each hand. One was proportional to the large man and glinted sharply in the torch light, while the other was a massive slab of roughly forged from crude iron but imbued with the roiling essence of the knight who wielded it. It pulsed and writhed with molten metal, radiating a cruel heat that stank of burning flesh.

"Raime, my dear child. Please, step aside and let the Monarch Candidate reunite my fragments," Nadalia's voice requested, coming from beyond the fog portal and the giant sword itself in a disturbing tandem.

"This is Raime? As in, Vendrick's Left Hand? The Twin Blade Knight? That Raime?" Mytha asked incredulously, staring at the figure of fallen grace.

"Oh, I guess we never told you," Erik said slowly, realizing where the Queen of Alken's confusion stemmed from. "After the fall of the Old Iron King, King Vendrick ordered the various territories to be seized. For some reason though, after failing to claim the Tower of Brume, he turned on the king and dueled Velstadt and lost. He then fled and disappeared. But indeed, why did he come back here?"

"The poor child perished in his attempts to claim this place for his master. But he was reborn as an Undead and despaired. I came to him and comforted him, and it seems he became quite attached." Nadalia's voice held a hint of amusement as well as genuine caring for the legendary rebellious knight. The old Undead merely grunted in response, his gaze never leaving the adventurers as they entered his domain. He waved his swords in a dismissive gesture and stepped aside, allowing the group to pass through the now opened fog gates.

"Raime has always had a bit of a… 'complex.' He latches onto parent figures due having none of his own. He returned to Drangleic and his king whom he saw as a father, but when it was discovered he bore the Darksign Vendrick turned his back on him. The Undead were monsters, and no matter how loyal Raime had once been he refused to let even a single 'monster' go free," Nadalia explained, her voice followed the party of travelers as they entered the secret throne room. "Poor Raime fled back to me, and he shifted his affections to a 'mother' instead of a father. I have cared for him, and he in turn protects me."

"That is a sad tale," Lucatiel uttered, casting a pitying look at the black knight who now followed them towards the final area.

"That is true. But there are many sad tales in this world, most of them forgotten due to time. As part of my 'condition,'" Nadalia said this part bitterly as if her existence was little more than an in-joke among the gods, "I am much more in tune with tales of woe that lead to isolation and the like. And people of that sort are naturally drawn to me. Much like how my sisters are drawn to people who reflect their own Aspect and in turn attract similar souls."

The Bride of Ash's voice now came to them from a top a throne hewn from granite and marble and all but buried beneath mounds of soft white ash and dust.

Like the women Erik had seen in the memories of his various souls, Nadalia was pale skinned to the point of almost being an albino, but with long black hair that hung like a shroud over her face. Clad in a thin robe that was stained grey with time and her surroundings, Nadalia in her true form looked more like a sad young woman than some eldritch Dark born being.

In her lap a large, heavy looking crown made from iron sat. elegant and yet severe, the headpiece was finely made; simple patterns ringing a dozen sharp spikes, with a single square cut ruby sitting in the center. Mytha's eyes widened in recognition when she saw, and that was all the proof her companions needed to know that this was the artifact once worn by the Old Iron King himself. Oddly enough not a speck of rust, dust or soot clung to it. The grime that should have stained the metal was gone, and Erik and the rest could only assume that was due to the massive amounts of magic contained within it. The Iron Crown was said to have restored the soul energy of whoever wore it, as well as refreshing ones stamina. That last part was unconfirmed though, since the Old Iron King had been so strong he could kill someone in a single blow, and he rarely faced a foe that made him exert himself.

"Present my soul fragments, please," Nadalia requested, tilted her head up to stare at the newcomers. Her eyes were like molten silver, with tiny swirls of purple for her pupils. Erik oblidged and carefully removed the eleven pieces of Nadalia's souls, and to the traveler's surprise Raime reached into himself and removed a twelfth shard.

"Always have a back-up," Nadalia said with a tiny smile, and then began to chant.

The words were unintelligible to the group, but some of the souls in Erik's collection seemed to hum along with the tune the Bride of Ash created. The twelve pieces of the Dark Child's soul lifted into the air and started to twirl and dance while sparks of pale blue light darted between them. Slowly the fragments grew closer and united as one once more, blinding the room and its audience with a dazzling display of blue and silver lights.

It all faded away, revealing a massive black and purple soul, easily on par with the Ancestral Souls Erik had encountered. It then sank into the bosom of the young woman on the throne, and Nadalia let out an echoing sigh of relief as she was made whole once more.

"Thank you so much for allowing me to return back to normal," the Bride of Ash thanked with a kind, motherly smile to the group. She rose from the throne still holding the Iron Crown and the detritus that covered her fell away, leaving her pristine.

Raime fell to his knee in supplication, a loving growl issuing forth from his helm. Lucatiel kept a stoic expression while Chloanne returned the Dark Child's smile. Erik was content to smile as well, basking in the glow of a job well done. Mytha on the other hand remained aloof and tried to seem uninterested, but her emotions were in a turmoil and it was noticeable in her eyes. The whole day had been one long surprise after the other.

Erik sighed as he spared the queen a glance. Hard to believe it had been less than twenty four hours since entering the doomed city and defeating the king turned Demon. It was strange. They'd been in mortal danger for so long that an easy trip through a normally deadly location seemed far more exhausting than it should have.

"Thank you so much brave travelers. Please, come this way," Nadalia said, ushering her entourage to follow her. With Raime bringing up the rear, the Bride of Ash led the quartet of Undead adventurers into a secret chamber behind the throne. Here was a large statuary altar just like the one they'd found below the Old Iron King's castle!

"This was how Castor traveled between his domain and this place to see me," Nadalia explained. "I can use it to send you back to Alken's catacombs and from there, you need to relight the Primal Bonfire and return to Majula."

"Why?" Erik inquired. That seemed fairly roundabout. Nadalia just shook her head.

"I cannot tell you why, young Undead. You're still a fledgling on the Monarch's Path. But once you've collected the souls and crowns, I will be more than happy to reveal all the truths to you," the Daughter of Dark explained, an apologetic look to her eyes.

"What will you do, then?" Lucatiel asked the mistress of the Old Iron King, and Nadalia turned pensive.

"I shall leave the Tower of Brume, and travel north to where my sister Alsanna keeps vigil over the rampant Chaos."

"You travel to Eleum Loyce, then," Erik surmised and the ancient woman nodded.

"Yes. It has been too long since she was left alone, and now that the Chaos has been pacified here with the defeat of Ichorous Earth I can lend a hand to help her," Nadalia stated.

"Ichorous Earth?" Chloanne inquired, echoing the confusion of the others.

"Yes, that was the name of the ancient Demon that consumed Castor and claimed his soul. Now that young Erik Potts has both it and the faded remnant of the Sunlight King's soul the Chaos that hid here is severely weakened. In my damaged form I could not muster the power to reaffix the seal. But now that I am whole I have banished it back to the depths of the earth where it belongs," Nadalia assured them.

The waif like young Darkling looked conflicted for a moment as she looked from the crown in her hands to Erik.

"Take this," Nadalia commanded, passing the crown of the Old Iron King to the chef.

"Wait, what?"

"You are his successor. It is only fitting that you claim his crown for your own," The Bride of Ash explained. Erik tried to pass it back, stammering as he did so.

"No, no! If it should be given to anyone, Mytha is the clear choice! I mean, is she not the sole ruler of Alken now?" The chef protested. His words came to a halt when Mytha shook her head in disagreement.

"I do not deserve it, Erik Potts. I lost myself in selfish misery and fell to Chaos. Besides, Alken is gone now. Nadalia clearly sees something in you. And so do I. Hope."

The former serpentine queen shook her head in amusement. "Honestly, you astound me. You've done the impossible several times, and will continue to do so. I have no doubt about that. This crown was a symbol of more than just kingship. It was an emblem of Castor's will and strength. I find it fitting that it be passed on to you."

"I will strive to uphold your belief in me," Erik assented, bowing his head low to Mytha and Nadalia. The Child of Dark smiled faintly, before turning towards the altar.

"Now, time to leave. Your journey awaits." The Bride of Ash raised a hand to the three headless snakes and the bowl filled with flicker purple flames.

"I wish to accompany you on your travels north."

Everyone paused and turned to look at Mytha who had spoken for the first time since a while.

"Why?" Nadalia asked, confused. The pale skinned woman's body language grew tense, and it was clear to Erik that this woman still harbored regret for what she had indirectly done to the true Queen of Alken. It appeared to be obvious to the formerly serpentine queen as well, so the tall figure tried to give a reassuring smile.

"I don't belong with Erik, as much as I wish to stay with him. My home is gone. The land is dying and the gods have fled. But, there is something I need to learn about." Mytha bent down to stare eye to eye with Nadalia. "I need to learn about you."

"Huh?!" The petite woman blushed fiercely, stammering at the words received. Mytha did not react to that and merely explained.

"I never really knew Castor like you did. And I want to know more about him. You can tell me what I want to know." Mytha straightened up but kept a piercing gaze on her. "And, it is clear you are a piece of the puzzle Erik needs to solve. So, I am coming with you to the north to meet your sister. You can't tell any of us some deep, dark secret? Fine. But I will see with my own eyes whether or not you are trustworthy, and if Erik should keep associating with you and your siblings."

"…I understand," Nadalia sighed, bowing her head in acceptance of the queen's demands. "You may join Raime and I in our trip to the frozen kingdom. I hope you'll discover what it is you seek."

"As do I," Mytha said, before turning to face Erik and the others. "I guess this is goodbye for now, Erik. The time I've spent with you three has been the best experience in a long time. I pray for your further successes."

"Don't frown, Mytha. We'll see each other again. I know it," Erik replied with a smile, walking over to the much larger woman and wrapping her in a hug. Her surprise turned to a fond smile and she reciprocated the gesture.

"I'll try to have some more chocolate made for you then. How about it?" Erik offers, causing the queen to lick her lips.

"If you do that, I might not be able to hold back," Mytha purred sensuously into the Undead chef's ear before grabbing his butt, causing Erik to flush scarlet.

"Um, well, uh, got to go!" Erik cried, jumping back and all but dashing to the bizarre altar.

"Keep the brat safe!" Mytha ordered Lucatiel and Chloanne who both shared a look and replied, "Obviously!" to the laughing beauty.

With a burst of bluish-purple flames, the three Undead were whisked away, leaving behind the grand monument to a dead king.


	25. Chapter 25: Homeward Bound

Chapter 25: Homeward Bound

After returning to the Royal Crypt of Alken Erik, Lucatiel and Chloanne spent only a few minutes to return to the surface and gather up the supplies they'd left behind the fog wall. A quick glance at the area showed that Nadalia's words were true; the lava was greatly receded, to the point that slaggy forms of old buildings and monuments could be spotted jutting out of the molten earth.

Once this task was complete the quartet-turned-trio descended back down and stepped up to the Primal Bonfire. Its flames seemed brighter than the one at the Lost Bastille, as if reacting to the newly obtained souls in Erik's collection.

"I'm going to miss her," Chloanne murmured to herself as she thought of Mytha. Erik nodded in agreement, feeling a touch remorseful that she had left. The queen had been a spot of joy in the dreariness of their travels, and had had many wonderful tales of Drangleic before it had fallen.

Lucatiel reached out and clapped the two sorrowful Undead on the shoulders, jolting them out of their reverie.

"Keep moping like that and you'll go Hollow," the knightess admonished. "And why are you so depressed? We'll meet her again. She promised us, did she not?"

"You're right, Luca. Thanks for that," Erik replied with a thankful smile.

"Luca?" Chloanne inquired with a raised eyebrow. Behind her mask Lucatiel blushed.

"It's just a nickname. To be honest, I'd like it if you would call me that as well," the stocky warrior woman offered the ore trader. Chloanne's response was a squeal of joy before she hugged the knightess.

"That would be lovely! Oh, it's been so long since I have had a fellow woman to have as a friend. I mean, we're already friends, aren't we? How could we not after braving dangers together?"

"Of course we're friends, Chloanne," Lucatiel assured with a laugh.

"You can call me Anne if you'd like," the young merchant stated, turning her head to glance over at Erik. "Same goes for you. I'd like it if you did the same."

"Of course!" Erik said happily. "I suppose we're all ready to head back to Majula?"

"Indeed. Let's head back." Lucatiel stepped up next to the chef, hand hovering over the Primal Bonfire.

"If we must. I'll admit, I would have liked to continue traveling with you two, but my father needs me by his side. He came all the way out here for my sake, after all," Chloanne said with a sigh. Still, a happy smile graced her lips, and she raised her palm over the flames as well.

When Erik's appendage joined the two women's, sparks flew and the fires surged forth, wrapping around the group in a blazing embrace. The Undead's visions faded to naught but swirling embers and dancing shadows, and then blinding white.

With a faint popping sound Erik wasn't sure had been there last time he'd done this, he and his companions staggered out of the bonfire at Majula, sparks cascading off of them. He and Lucatiel had done this before and found their footing faster. Chloanne almost fell on her knees from the effects but luckily the chef and knightess were there to catch her.

"You OK, Anne?" Erik asked as he turned worried eyes onto the ore trader. She nodded back before finding her balance and stood up.

"I am fine, thank you Erik. And you too Luca."

"Welcome back, welcome back! I smelled a most familiar scent and rushed over as soon as I could!" A charming and elegant voice rose up to meet the trio. They looked over to the side and saw the Emerald Herald sitting on a large boulder nearby. She looked as if she had been startled by the Undead's appearance as she had a frozen expression on her face.

However it was not her who had called out to them. Erik turned and reached down to pet the unnaturally silky fur of Shalquoir, smiling fondly as he did so.

Lucatiel's expression was unreadable from behind her mask but Chloanne's jaw had dropped open as soon as she heard the cat speak to them.

"That kitty…"

"Just spoke?" Lucatiel teased. She remembered her own reaction to the magical beast.

"Is so cute! Who's a good kitty?" The ore trader dropped to her knees and quickly started to rub and pet the bemused Watcher. The chef stepped back and relinquished petting duty to his giddy comrade.

"Oh, I like her! Mmmm, right there, behind the ear…" Shalquoir mumbled in bliss. Erik chuckled as he watched the scene. His amusement only grew as he looked up at the knightess and sensed her own befuddlement at the situation.

"It just occurred to me, but Anne is certainly accepting of the weirdness of Drangleic, isn't she?" The chef pointed out. Lucatiel only sighed in agreement. Looking back it did seem that the former peasant had been much more relaxed and collected in their journey even though they had run into headless manikins, sexy Undead sorceresses, and several Chaos tainted beings.

"Chloanne, is that you?!"

The ore trader's smile cramped a bit as she recognized the voice, but stood up and greeted her father regardless.

Bursting out of the ramshackle forge, Lenigrast rushed over to his daughter and scooped her up in a wild, crushing hug. Though the young woman seemed startled by his decayed green skin and gaping wound in his back, she none the less returned the hug.

"Father, please, you're embarrassing me," Chloanne protested after a while, her words faint from lack of air. The smith let out a gruff 'Harumph!" as he realized that there were quite a few people watching.

Melentia's cackle overlapped Shalqouir's bell-like titters as Saulden guffawed from atop his steps. Even Lucatiel and the Emerald Herald hid a few dainty chuckles.

The new arrivals of Gilligan and Magerold peered up from where they'd placed themselves at the commotion, the former on the edge of the sewage pit while the latter was near the manor. Both flinched when they saw who exactly had arrive, and quickly tried to look unassuming and not evil.

Lenigrast's green face turned a remarkable shade of hideous purple from his blush and he stomped off in a huff, muttering about 'whipper snappers' and 'no respect.'

The noise seemed to attract the attention of Carhillion who looked over to the commotion, and he broke into a grin when he spotted Erik and Lucatiel.

"Ah, you two! Returned from your journey, have you? And still with your wits! Excellent."

"Hello Carhillion," Erik said, wandering over to greet the old man. The chef had a few people he needed to speak with before he left, and the elder sage was one of them.

"I feel you have gained more strength, as well as some powerful souls," Carhillion mused. "And do I detect enchanted items?"

"Indeed. Take a look at this. Can you tell me anything about it?" Erik asked, pulling out the Iron Crown and passing it to the sorcerer. The bearded chin dropped in shock as he took it from the cook with trembling hands.

"By the gods! This… this is the Iron Crown, is it not?!" the Melfian's voice was loud and it carried over across Majula. Saulden almost stood up in his surprise and Shanalotte's face twisted into an incomprehensible expression. Shalquoir's tail froze in the air, despite being petted again by Chloanne, and Melentia was rendered speechless and for once did not laugh madly. In the distance a curious Maughlin poked his head out of his shop while two newcomers, the Laddersmith and the Treasure Hunter, stared with a glint of greed up at the hill.

"Aye, it is. We found this after slaying the demon which had murdered the Old Iron King." It wasn't a lie. Erik was hesitant about mentioning much about what he and his friends had uncovered in the royal family's crypt and later the Tower of Brume. The chef wasn't sure what Nadalia was, and if she truly was an ally. He trusted Mytha though, but was unsure if he wanted to tell anyone about her yet either.

"Let me see…yes, this is without a doubt an item of ancient powers," Carhillion mused, looking over the artifact in his hands.

"From what I can tell, there seems to be a feature that replenishes Mana over a period of time, thus allowing a person to cast more sorceries, miracles, and pyromancies. Made of some kind of reinforced Titanite based on the weight and feel, and I think there's something hidden in the gem…"

There was a 'Pop!' as the sorcerer mentioned this, and a scroll flew out of the crown's jewel and smacked the old man in the face.

"Are you alright?!" Erik cried but Carhillion waved him off.

"Just fine, it's only vellum after all. Let's see what was secreted away." Taking the scroll, he looked it over and his face broke into a smile.

"Amazing! This is a Pyromancy, but I've never heard of it before! Its name is 'Outcry,' and it seems to be a Pyromancy based off of the miracle 'Force!'" Carhillion exclaimed, eyes roving the intricate runes and spell diagrams inked onto the surface of the scroll.

"Do you mind if I study these for a bit? I can only imagine what I can learn from these!" Carhillion all but begged, forcing Erik to give in from the 'Grandpa Puppy Eyes.' That was because it was extremely unsettling seeing an old man try and pull off cute, pleading eyes.

"Of course. I want to stick around for a bit before moving on," the chef agreed, leaving the researcher to his own devices.

Erik's next stop was Saulden. He stopped before the knight and Covenant Leader of the Way of Blue and gave a small bow.

"Yes, what is it?" The chainmail clad knight inquired. Normally the crestfallen man would be annoyed at any attempts at interaction, but this young Undead had piqued his interested. Carrying the crown of one of the three Great Kings of Drangleic was not a feat normal men could pull off. Not only that, but Saulden too had defeated Ichorous Earth in the ruins of Alken and braved Brume Tower for a while before turning away in search of the rest of the souls. Yet he had not found the Iron Crown during those times. Somehow this boy had done what he himself had not. And that was worthy of respect.

"I have information I'd like to pass on to Grandmaster Targey and the Blue Sentinels. It affects you as well, so if you could accompany me that'd be great," Erik proposed.

A raised eyebrow was the chef's only response, before Saulden stood with a groan.

"It's been a while since I saw my friend. I suppose I should pay him a visit," the knight mused, following Erik to the Bonfire. The two placed their hands on the handle of the sword and were soon whisked away by the magic towards the hidden bonfire of the Twin Azure Order's base.

"Purple and White!" A voice called out as the two Undead materialized in the bonfire chamber of the Blue Cathedral. Looking over Erik saw a Blue Sentinel with a lance calling up the stairs.

"That's just code to explain who the visitors are," Saulden explained while dusting himself off. "Purple is for high ranked members of the Orders. White is for harmless guests."

"I wish to speak with Grandmaster Targey. Is there a chance for a meeting?" Erik asked, pointedly ignoring the Crestfallen Knight's comment on his strength.

"Of course, Sir Erik. The Grandmaster is busy coordinating some hunts right now, but he'll be glad to make time for you," the lancer replied, ushering the pair up the stairs.

"Something's happened." It was a statement rather than a question, but the guard answered Saulden regardless.

"Indeed. We're not sure why but for a while now the Brother of Blood has exploded with activity. The Huntsman's Copse is swarming with Red Spirits as is the Wharf and the Earthen Peaks. Some were even spotted around the Lost Bastille."

Saulden grunted in disgust at the mention of Orders' longtime enemies and followed Erik up to the war room.

Situated two floors above the chapel where the Dragonslayer stood vigil, the war room was simply a modified bedroom for a high ranked cleric, the bed long gone and replaced with a large table covered in a map of Drangleic. Tiny colored markers and symbols dotted the surface, and Targey stood over it with a frown, glaring at the red points.

The other Blue Sentinels in the room had similar looks, and were sharing information about recent movements. As Erik and Saulden entered Targey turned around, having detected their souls and gave a wane smile.

"You two are a sight for sore eyes," the Blue Sentinel Covenant leader praised, slapping the two heartily on the shoulders. The chef staggered while the Crestfallen Knight rolled his eyes at his comrade's actions.

"I apologize if we seem distracted, but the Brotherhood has become very agitated for some reason. They're tearing up the areas around the Huntsman's Copse, looking for something," Targey explained, waving the Undead over to the table. "We think that whatever it is they're after is related to Alken in some way since they're tearing up all of the kingdom's former territories in a frenzy."

"About that," Erik spoke up, "I think they might be after me."

"Why?" Targey inquired, not outright dismissing the young man's claim. He did have an insanely pure soul, and a huge collection of souls. A great prize for sure. But really something to send the entire blood hungry covenant into a tizzy?

"I encountered a trio of Red Spirits while passing through the Copse. Thankfully Gordin was summoned to my side and managed to fend them off, but it's possible they reported my existence to the rest of the covenant."

"And what makes you so special?" A Blue Sentinel probed. His tone was respectful in spite of his words. After all, the chef's food had revitalized his spirit and given him a reason to continue fighting.

"These." Erik reached into himself and pulled out two pulsating orbs of golden fire. A pair of massive souls shone onto the room, and the Undead stared.

"What I'm holding are fragments of the souls of two very ancient gods," Erik explained, showing the Old Witches Soul and the Old Sun King's Soul. "These would be great prizes for those vile hunters."

"By the Gods," Targey whispered in awe, Saulden mirroring the shock. He'd never encountered anything as potent as these before! A single one of these souls could sustain an Undead for months! And they were mere fragments!

"Plus, I think I know where the Brotherhood's base is," Erik continued, putting away the elder souls into himself.

"One surprise after the other," Saulden muttered to himself, his words part mockery and part admiration.

"Where? We have searched from the top most spires and peaks of the world to the very depths of the earth. And yet the Brotherhood eluded us. Where is there base?" Targey inquired, leaning in eagerly to the young chef.

"The coliseum near the Huntsman's Copse."

The anticipation that had been built deflated instantly with Erik's revelation.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. We have searched that place, several times in fact. It is an obvious place for blood mad worshippers to congregate, but no matter how we scoured the ruins we could never find anything other than a handful of Hollows constantly tormented by an Undead charioteer," Targey explained.

"When Lucatiel and I ventured near it to try and pass through on our way to the Earthen Peaks, I felt something in there," Erik said slowly as he remembered the sensation from back then. "It was strong and throbbed with an energy all too similar to that of the souls I showed you earlier. The soul of a god is in there. And, if the memories of the three liches who once lived there are to be trusted, they turned it over to Nahr Alma himself."

"I too remember that memory," Saulden spoke after a terse silence digesting Erik's words. "When I saw it I rushed to investigate the coliseum, but found no evidence of a god. But then again, I did not have any souls to compare."

"Now that you mention it," another Blue Sentinel said, this one a woman armed with a bow, "I recall feeling a pressure similar to the one those two god-souls gave off a while back at the coliseum. But when I tried to get close to look into it the presence vanished."

"This warrants further investigation," Targey declared, turning to his aides. "I want you to go to the bonfire nearest to the coliseum and check if a pressure akin to the souls Erik revealed to us lingers nearby."

The Grandmaster then turned to Erik and gave a short bow. "Thank you, Erik, for coming to us with this information. Though it may be a false lead there's always a chance we missed something."

"It's my pleasure," Erik said happily returning the bow with one of his own. "I need to return to Majula now. I have more places I wish to visit."

"Certainly! And it was a pleasure to see you again as well, Saulden, if only briefly."

"The same, old friend," the Crestfallen Knight replied, shaking Targey's hand with a thin, almost invisible smile on his lips. Saulden turned to Erik with some advice.

"You will need to find a way to the Brightstone Cove. There is where the next part of your journey awaits," the knight offered, and Erik bowed in thanks. The moment was quickly interrupted by thunderous footsteps and an excited cry.

"Boy! You're still alive!" A booming voice shook the war room and Erik flinched as a heavy hand slapped his back in greeting.

"Hello again, Gordin," Erik said with a pained smile. The Forossan had the decency to flush in embarrassment at his overly enthusiastic hello.

"Glad to see you're not a gibbering wreck yet. What brings you here?"

"Young Erik Potts brought a matter to our attention that I will discuss with you soon. For now, could you escort him back to the bonfire? He has other places to be," Targey instructed, making the red headed warrior give a halfhearted salute on response.

"Sure thing, boss. Come on, boy, tell me about your adventurers!"

The two spent the next few minutes talking about what Erik had seen and done since he'd left the Blue Cathedral. The noble mercenary had been mightily impressed by what the chef had fought and survived against.

For some reason the giant Forossan just laughed uproarious when Erik told him about how he'd met Lucatiel and then given her the Giant's Ring. The chef was confused by that by shrugged it off as more of Gordin's crass nature.

By the time they reached the bonfire, Erik had finished telling the larger Blue Sentinel about the way he defeated the Lost Sinner.

"…And then the Primal Bonfire warped us back to Majula all of a sudden."

"You've had an impressive trip so far boy. I'm impressed you made it."

"To be honest, I never expected to get this far. And when we were cornered by the Red Spirits at the Copse, I was afraid Lucatiel and I were done for. Thanks for the assistance with that, by the way," Erik said giving the warrior a look of gratitude.

"No thanks needed. It was my pleasure and my duty to vanquish those scum," Gordin claimed with a savage grin.

"Still, I am grateful. And to show that, let me return something of yours…" Erik reached up to his back and removed the Chest of Holding, setting it down by the bonfire and rooting through it before removing a reddish tinted great sword.

"Is that…?" Gordin whispered, staring in shock at the blade.

"Indeed. This is your sword, correct?" Erik held out the massive weapon to the Forossan who took it with trembling hands. Lucatiel had been the one to recognize it as the famous blade of the Giant of Forossa when they'd found it in the Tower of Brume, and the knightess and chef had both decided to return it to its rightful owner as thanks for having saved them a while back.

The chef was caught off guard when the bear of a man grabbed the much smaller Undead and crushed him in a hug.

"I never thought I would see it again!" Gordin cried, squeezing the air out of Erik's lungs. "When that Red Spirit thief stole it from me I never thought I would see it again! Thank you! You're a true friend!"

Erik was released and quickly gasped in some air. Gordin gave a deep bow to the Undead chef in thanks.

"If we ever fight together again, then my sword is yours without question! I will fight for you in any manner you see fit!"

"Thank you," Erik wheezed. He packed up the magical chest once more and stepped over to the bonfire, giving a wave farewell to Gordin and the Blue Sentinel on guard duty. With a whoosh of flames, the chef vanished.

Stepping out of the sparks and embers, Erik sighed with relief when he saw the town of Majula before him. He spared a glance at the surroundings, noticing that the sun was starting to set. The few inhabitants were off doing their own things, and Erik was glad to see such a peaceful setting after the harsh trek he'd returned from. It was the perfect time to ask his questions. He walked over to his target and gave a kind smile.

"Miss Emerald Herald, I'd like to discuss with you about this whole 'Monarch' business."

The brown haired woman looked up from her seat on the boulder and grimaced, one eye constantly hidden by her bangs.

"Very well, Erik Potts. I suppose I should have expected this talk to come sooner or later."


	26. Chapter 26: Lady of the Bonfire

**Chapter 26: Lady of the Bonfire**

"What is it you wish to know?" Shanalotte asked as she looked over at Erik Potts, who had taken a seat on a smaller boulder next to her.

"How do you sit on these things all day?" Erik griped, trying to find a spot on the rock that did not dig into his backside.

"I've sat in worse places." 'And slept in them as well,' the auburn haired woman thought to herself, memories of her childhood rising unbidden to her mind.

"Now is that all, or do you have real questions?"

"What exactly is a Monarch Candidate?"

The Emerald Herald had not expected that. Where had he heard that title? She hadn't used it in a long time, not since Saulden failed.

"Where did you learn of that title?" Shanalotte demanded, leaning over to the chef with a fierce glint in her visible eye.

"Queen Mytha of Alken told it to me, as well as how it was a plan involving the three kingdoms. It had to do with the First Flame," Erik said, carefully watching the Herald and not at all intimidated by her glare. He'd seen a woman with a worm for an eye and rotten, deformed corpses that refused to die, he could take her angry yet cute pout any day!

As soon as he thought that Erik's brain ground to a halt. Did he really just refer to something she did as 'cute?'

"Impossible! Mytha was twisted by Chaos and was as close to Hollowing as possible for her beforehand. There is nothing left of her mind that could let her speak!"

"And how would you know that? As far as I know you've never left this place in years," Erik challenged.

"I am the last of the Fire Keepers! I am one with the Bonfires! I can gaze into them and peer upon any being whose soul I recognize," Shanalotte retorted, hopping off her stony throne to stare back at Erik.

"Then take a look into that bonfire there and take a gander at Mytha," Erik replied calmly, smoothing sliding off his own rock to face the Emerald Herald's stare.

With a disparaging snort the Herald stomped over to the crackling flames and gazed into them, her expression becoming unfocused the longer she peered deep into the embers. After a few minutes her face contorted into a mix of disbelief and surprise, and she whirled about to look at Erik.

"HOW?" She all but spat, grabbing Erik by the collar with both hands and shoving her face close to his own.

"The recipes of my ancestor cured her," the chef proclaimed. There was no trace of pride in his words, nor was there arrogance, condescension, or anything else of the like Shanalotte had expected to hear.

"How?" She asked, quieter this time. Her voice was barely a whisper, and her gaze had lost all of its bite.

"I don't know exactly, but the Four Divine Dishes Donovan Potts created long ago appear to have curative properties," Erik mused. "The ingredients are rare and some come from mystical sources. There is a chance that they react together to create unimaginable effects. Like alchemy."

Culinary Alchemy. Now she'd heard it all! Shanalotte felt something bubble up in her, a sensation she'd all but forgotten.

Erik stared in wonder as tremors wracked the Emerald Herald's frame. She trembled, trying to hold something in, but a series of snorts escaped her lips, and soon she found herself leaking giggles, and finally the dam could restrain it no longer. She laughed.

She laughed and laughed and laughed. Releasing Erik's shirt, Shanalotte fell to her knees and released laughter that echoed across Majula. Clear and bell-like, her mirth resounded over the cliffs and waves of the ocean, and upon the worn timbers of the town's buildings. Her laughter was a mix of desperate joy and unbridled disbelief.

Hearing it, Shalquoir almost shed a tear for her friend. How long had it been since she'd last heard the Emerald Herald give a genuine laugh? How many years had passed since Shanalotte closed off her heart? Purring in happiness, Shalquoir knew of a certain chef who was getting a gift later!

For everyone else, they could only stare in amazement at the scene before them. None of them had ever heard her laugh before. None of them had ever seen her smile. Even Saulden, the oldest resident of Majula, had only ever seen false smiles upon her lips. But now there she was, laughing and smiling and experiencing joy one more time.

After several minutes of riotous laughter, Shanalotte finally settled down and wiped her eyes while stifling her chuckles.

Erik froze in shock as he watched the Emerald Herald remove her tears of mirth. As her hand cleared away the moisture, they unveiled her hidden eye. Royal purple with a sapphire iris. Memories of an elegant, intoxicatingly beautiful woman filled his mind, and he recalled the woman who'd called herself the Witch of Izalith. The young Undead chef felt something throb in his chest as he watched her smiling brightly in the afterglow of her laughter, while the setting sun cast astonishing highlights through her hair.

"It's been so long since I last laughed like that," Shanalotte admitted, regaining control of her emotions. With an iron will she buried her previous enjoyment and put on a mask of cold neutrality. Her bangs hide her vibrant eye once more, and Erik felt slightly disappointed.

"The Monarch Candidate is an Undead who is destined to rekindle the First Flame," Shanalotte explained, standing up again and facing Erik. "He must gather several powerful souls to use as fuel. These souls are ones that have been touched in some way by the First Flame, and thus have a connection to it. By restoring the First Flame to its full glory, the Curse of the Undead will be lifted and the gods will be restored in power, so they may guide and watch over the world once more."

"And that is the truth?" Erik inquired. The Herald nodded.

"Yes. That is who the Monarch Candidate is. The person who is fated to save the world."

"And you think that is me?" Erik asked in disbelief. At that, Shanalotte paused. She had no answer. A few moments ago she would have denied it vehemently. But now, after spying on Mytha and seeing her not only fully restored to her old glory, but accompanying one of the Sisters of Dark on a journey to Eleum Loyce, the Emerald Herald was uncertain. Many previous Monarch Candidates failed to collect even half of the Great Souls, and yet here was a chef who'd done so. Many of them perished and went Hollow after experience despair as they were forced to fight monsters. Yet here was Erik, unblemished by his time in Drangleic.

"I do not know," Shanalotte confessed, looking at Erik with sorrowful eyes. "I have seen hundreds of Undead come and go, many of them with strong souls who tried oh so desperately to complete the challenges of the Monarch Candidate. And yet all failed. Each and every one. Most went Hollow. One gave up and burned his very soul and Humanity to escape the quest he found himself trapped in. Because once you step onto the path, you cannot leave it. You must finish it, or go Hollow."

"But here you are, a simple cook who had no interest in being a hero or a savior, and yet who has unwittingly collected two of the four Great Souls needed to rekindle the First Flame. You are on the road of the king now, Erik Potts. Your only choice is to succeed."

Shanalotte glanced at Erik to gauge his reaction. She half expected him to break down in terror, to have his mind break under the stress of the unreasonable demands the Gods and Drangleic had foisted upon him. That was how several Monarch Candidates failed. They were simply incapable of carrying that responsibility on their shoulders. But to her surprise Erik did not flinch or falter. Instead, his gaze on sharpened, and it seemed as if he had steeled himself for the future.

"I never thought I'd have to be someone in charge of saving the world," Erik said after a bit. "I thought I would live a full life in Lindelt. Find a woman to love. To marry. Have kids. Succeed my father as the Head Chef of the Lightning Palace and later die surrounded by family."

He looked over to Shanalotte. "I don't know if I'll be able to do what it is you require of me. But I swear on my name and that of my ancestor that I will try."

"Let me try and give you a bit of help then. Take my hands," Shanalotte said, a part of her moved by his dedication and resolve. The chef complied and he felt his body heat up.

"In the past, it was possible for a person to alter their very being by taking the souls of their foes and turning them into power. Using the Bonfire, even the weakest of men could become great sorcerers or skilled knights. Now that ability is lost to all but myself. I can take the souls you've collected and turn them into the strength you need to continue this journey. Close your eyes, and imagine what it is you want to improve. Your endurance, perhaps? Or maybe your attunement with spells? All is possible."

Erik closed his eyes as ordered, and tried to think on what he needed. With a deep breath, he looked deep into himself, and tried to imagine what would best help him.

After a moment of thought he made his choice, and felt the numerous souls he'd acquired on his travels change, shift and flow. They did not vanish. Instead, they changed, transmuting and fusing with his own soul, improving and strengthening it.

A flash of piercing white light filled his mind, and Erik rose and blinked his eyes open. He felt… different. As if he'd grown a few inches and gained some extra muscle mass while also having a bigger capacity to perform his Pyromancies.

And then there was the strange sensation that he had done this before…

He gave a bow to the Emerald Herald and turned away. Grabbing his bag and the magic chest, he walked over to Carhillion and reclaimed his new Pyromancy scroll from the sage. Afterwards he bid a fond farewell to Chloanne, receiving a tender hug from the young ore merchant.

After stocking up on items with Melentia, he was finally ready and headed over to where Lucatiel and Shalquoir were waiting at the slope of the hill that led up to the entrance of the town. He paused as a thought struck him and turned back to Shanalotte.

"By the way, your eye is beautiful. You shouldn't hide it from the world," Erik said gently and gave a charming smile. The Emerald Herald clapped her hands over her covered eye, fighting down a blush that crept over her face at his words.

"Where to next?" He asked his knightess companion. He wasn't sure, but he felt that there was a chilling aura around her that hadn't been there before.

"Up this hill lies a path. It leads through the Shaded Woods and to the territory of Duke Tseldora; the Brightstone Cove. You'll need all your wits and skills to make it through," Shalquoir said, sauntering over. She flicked her tail lazily and metal glinted in the sunlight as a ring flew over to Erik. He caught in and looked at it in surprise.

"A gift from me to you. It may help you on your trip through the woods. The area is home to the Lion Clan as well as the Gyrm. That is a Ring of Whispers. It will allow you to understand any language. It doesn't let you speak it, mind you."

"Such a precious item!" Erik cried, looking at the ring in his hands. It looked thin and fragile, but his growing magical aptitude told him it was filled with an ancient and powerful magic.

"Thank you, young one, for giving my precious friend the chance to laugh again," Shalquoir whispered as she slinked past him and headed to the fire. "It's been far too long since she has had happiness."

Erik nodded in silent understanding before flashing Lucatiel a grin.

"Shall we head off, then?"

Under the mask the knightess rolled her eyes. He really was blind to what he did, wasn't he? With a simple nod she fell into step next to him, and the pair made their way up to their next destination.

Half way up the hill Erik slapped his forehead. He'd forgotten to ask for the Emerald Herald's name again!

 **Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed yesterday's holiday gift chapter! Now back to our regularly scheduled posting.**


	27. Chapter 27: Blue Knight and Red Lady

_**Chapter 27: Blue Knight and the Red Lady**_

"There's someone up ahead." Erik glanced up from gathering herbs and mushrooms from the side of the path towards Lucatiel. The masked swordswoman from Mirrah had her hand resting on the hilt of her long blade but made no other movements. The chef then looked over to where his friend was staring.

Leaning against the swell of a hill and some broken pillars, a swarthy man with a bushy beard sat, resting with a massive, beautiful blue tinged blade. Seriously, it was huge! Erik hadn't seen a normal human wield a weapon that size before! It looked far too massive to be a real weapon, or of any use, but the faint glow around it indicated it might be a magical blade of some kind.

His armor on the other hand was fairly standard looking, uniform almost, and was the reason Lucatiel was tense. Erik quickly finished up his gathering and stood beside her, when they approached.

"Hello, good sirs!" The man called out when the mysterious knight heard them approach. "I did not think I'd meet anyone on this untrodden path."

"Greetings as well, sir," Erik said with a respectful bow of the head. He still hadn't kicked his habit of deferential treatment to nobles, and this man seemed to be such, based on his manners and clear speech. Even if he wasn't, it was still a good idea to be nice to everyone you met, especially someone with a sword larger than yourself!

"No need for formality, we're all Undead here," the knight chuckled with a dismissive wave. "But you might want to think about turning around. The way ahead is blocked and I'm scratching my head on what to do about it."

"Blocked?" Lucatiel inquired, shooting a look to the end of the path. There was a gate house of some kind, crumbling and ruined, but looked intact for the most part.

"Aye, there's a poor lass, petrified and blocking the gate mechanism," the man explained. "No matter what I do I cannot budge her. At least she's fairly durable. I'd hate to have accidentally damage her like that trying to shift her."

"So she's a mage then?" Erik asked, as he recalled Lucatiel saying something about petrification affecting mages differently.

"Most likely. But where are my manners! I am Benhart of Jugo, at your service!" The knight rose and bowed elegantly, towering over the two smaller Undead by a full foot.

"Benhart… then are you perhaps the Knight of the Blue Moon?!" Lucatiel asked, her voice awed and full of respect. She relaxed her guard and Erik just tilted his head.

"Ah, so you've heard of me! I am indeed he! Though a knight from Mirrah recognizing me and not wishing to cut me in half is a surprise," Benhart admitted, scratching the back of his head in pleasure.

"I'm a bit lost, I'm afraid. Is he a figure of renown?" Erik looked over to his companion and he could swear she was blushing through her mask.

"A little over a hundred years ago there was a vicious border war between Mirrah and Jugo. The victors were our dessert neighbor, and that was entirely due to this man here," Mirrah said, gesturing towards Benhart.

"Known as the Knight of the Blue Moon, he had the strength of ten men, carried a massive shimmering azure sword that could cut through spells and enchantments, and was at the front of every battle. In the end, he took the head of the king and his generals in a single battle, thus ending the war within a year!"

"Honestly, you'll make me blush with this praise," Benhart said awkwardly, looking away from the pair.

"They say he died after the feast in his honor, having drunk and eaten too much, but his legend lives on. Even in Mirrah we speak of him with respect, for we value martial skills, and anyone who has such a list of achievements is worthy of it," Lucatiel stated.

"Ah yes, the feast." Jugo's eyes turned dark at that. "I was poisoned by a group of nobles who were afraid of my sudden rise in popularity. I contracted the Curse though, so I snuck out quickly after 'repaying' them. Still, my family retained the honor I'd earned for them in the war. Hopefully they recovered the fortunes and prestige from long ago."

"I take it your family was on the decline?" Erik asked, more versed in noble politics than most would expect. But living and working under the roof of House Osteria gave the chef a closer look at the aristocrats then he might otherwise have had.

"Aye. We were related to the king once, but fell out of favor for one reason or another. Now the only thing left to the family name is this blade, the Bluemoon Greatsword!" Benhart brandished it proudly, showing off the eldritch azure glow.

"It too has lost much of its powers over the years, but there is still a glimmer of magic left that can be unlocked with the skills of a talented knight."

"Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you Sir Benhart. I think we're going to examine this petrified woman and perhaps we can find a way to move her," Erik said and earned a nod from the burly knight.

"Good luck to you. I'm not going anywhere, not for a while at least. If I returned to Majula so soon after I left, I fear that the hag and the cat will laugh at me, especially after my grandiose departure."

Erik and Lucatiel nodded in understanding, both well aware of the two people in question and their 'playful' nature.

Walking the rest of the way to the gatehouse, Benhart shouted to them about a pair of Hollows that had snuck in somehow. They acknowledged the warning with a wave, before drawing weapons. Erik was much better at using his new Heide Straightsword, and he took point, finding the two bloated and nearly naked Hollows no match.

After pinning the two corpses under some rubble, the two travelers approached the petrified woman. She was wearing robes, slightly tattered and looking similar to Carhillion's. Her expression was panicked, as if there was something dreadful on the other side of the gate, and sealing it was the right choice.

"Is there anything in your ancestor's book about some magical food or another to cure petrification?" Lucatiel asked. She wasn't being facetious either. Donovan Pott's tome had gotten the chef and his friends out of several situations that might have been impossible, or at least very difficult, otherwise. So if the ancient chef had learned something, there was a chance that the book had the answer recorded within.

"Let me take a look." Erik sat cross legged on the floor and flipped through the old pages seeking a clue. After a few minutes, during which Lucatiel re-killed the two Hollows, there was a look of surprise on Erik's face, and he quickly removed the Bottomless Box from his back and rooted through it.

"So, I believe I found a possible solution," Erik began as he removed a fat, bulbous root-like branch of wood from the container.

"This is called a Fragrant Branch of Yore. It is a part of an Arch-Tree that has grown amidst regular trees. From what I understand this is one of the only substances in the world that can undo petrification. Donovan's notes are unclear on how it works exactly. He says the 'scent' is the key, both for curing and for cooking. How to extract that scent is somewhat unclear, but he does mention that a Pyromancer he met could turn these branches into charcoal. The smoke from this process could be bottled and used as a kind of smelling salts to undo petrification."

"How long does that take?" Lucatiel inquired to which the Undead chef shrugged.

"Not sure exactly. I'm going to use the regular method for making charcoal with Pyromancy, and hope that this works." Erik closed his eyes and held the lump of wood in his left hand, reaching out to his Fire Seed and sensing its power. He'd found a few more of the rare wooden seeds, but was reluctant to use them at present. Still, just having them near him was helping to boost the output of his own flames. With glacial slowness embers and sparks popped and spat into Erik's palm, smothered somewhat by the branch.

Making charcoal was actually fairly easy. At its base, charcoal was just wood that has been burned. Before it burns to ash though, or the fire completely penetrates the substance, the wood has to be removed from the fire. At that point, the heat has seared in various attributes of the wood. Apple or cherry wood has a unique scent as well as lumber from other fruit bearing trees. This 'scent' could then be imbued into other foods when used to cook with the charcoal.

The best way to make charcoal involved sealing it in a copper or tin pot or drum, then stacking a bunch of firewood around it then setting it all alight. The flames did not reach the wood inside the metal but is still heated none the less. The flavor is sealed inside and then the charcoal is ready for use. Such a method is expensive though, as using firewood just to make specialty firewood for cooking wasted lumber. Only the rich could afford such techniques.

That is, unless one was a Pyromancer. The main trouble with charcoal is the management of heat. You cannot burn the wood too much, but you also don't want it to be covered in mild uneven burnt patches. A Pyromancer could use their flame manipulation to control the rate of burning as well as how strong the fire was. This was the method that Erik had been taught by his father, who'd learned it from his own father, and so on. Based on what Donovan had written in the book, the long-dead chef had started this tradition in his family after learning how to make charcoal from the same Pyromancer who showed him what to do with Fragrant Branches of Yore.

And so Erik sweated from both heat and nerves, turning the lump of wood over every so often as his left hand pulsed with heat and flames, slowly searing the branch into a block of charcoal.

An effect was soon noticed as there was a faint breeze that blew the smoke that was rising towards the petrified woman. Cracks began to appear all over her, spreading rapidly as the smoke wafted over her body, and bits of dark grey stone flaked off revealed dark brown skin.

Then without warning there was a sound like shattering glass and the greyish material fell off of the woman's body and quickly dissolved into a cloud of dust. Doubling over, the dark skinned and black haired woman began to cough and wheeze, desperately sucking in air while simultaneously hacking it out. She had released the gate mechanism from her clutches in the process, which was nice. What wasn't, at least from Lucatiel's perspective, was that the woman was now completely naked.

The petrification had affected her entire body, which included her clothes. When the Fragrant Branch of Yore had released her from her stony prison it had done so by peeling away the layer of magical rock thus only her flesh remained intact. Due to the magical nature of both the petrification and the eldritch piece of wood, only living materials were left unharmed.

This meant that now there was a woman without clothes sitting on the floor. Erik's eyes had quickly jerked away, trying to preserve her modesty. Lucatiel simply sighed and removed some spare clothes from her pack. It was another Desert Sorceress outfit, or most of one.

"Miss, are you alright? I have some clothes here for you to cover up with," Lucatiel said as she approached. The woman looked up, and her eyes widened in shock. The next thing the knightess knew she had been tackled by the naked woman who was hugging her almost desperately.

"Aslatiel! You escaped! I'm so glad you're alright!"

Lucatiel froze as the young woman called out her brother's name as she hugged the armor clad knight. Even Erik was looking in confusion at the odd scene.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. My name is Lucatiel."

A few seconds of awkward silence later and the woman removed herself from the knightess' waist, blushing furiously. The blush only grew deeper when she saw the current lack of attire she sported.

Hastily taking the offered clothes she slipped them on, before bowing in apology to Lucatiel.

"I'm sorry! It's just that you're dressed very similarly to my companion. My name is Rosabeth of Melfia, a Pyromancer."

"That name… are you perhaps Carhillion's student?" Erik spoke up which made the young woman brighten up. Turning to the chef she gave a nod of her head in greeting.

"I am! Or one of them at least. I came here in search of my teacher after receiving the Curse. I haven't found him yet, but I know it'll be soon!"

"You're in luck. The old man is back at Majula, probably boring the rest to tears with one of his lectures," Erik said with a cheeky grin which was met with a laugh from Rosabeth.

"I don't doubt that. Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Before you run off back to your mentor, tell me; where did you last see my brother," Lucatiel demanded, causing the Undead Pyromancer to tilt her head before gasping in shock.

"Are you Aslatiel's sister, Lucatiel? He's told me so much about you!" Rosabeth exclaimed happily. "From the day you were born, to the day you joined the knights…"

"Where is he?!" Lucatiel shouted, losing all of her patience. Rosabeth flinched back but rallied quickly.

"I do not know. The last I saw of him he was fight off a horde of Basilisks." Rosabeth's face turned grim as she started to recall the previous moments of her life.

"I met Aslatiel several months back. I had just arrived and he was patrolling the cliffs of Majula. We struck up a friendship and soon he had offered to travel with me in my search for Pyromancy and my teacher. It feels like it was yesterday to me, but when we were traveling down past the Shaded Woods, we were attacked by a swarm of those nasty Basilisks! They were being led by a giant one, and they chased after us. Aslatiel told me to run back to the gate and seal it, that he'd hold them off, but one slipped past his guard and sprayed me with its foul fumes." Rosabeth shivered as she remembered the clammy feeling of the noxious gas caressing her skin.

"I could feel myself petrifying, but I got back to the Gatehouse just in time to close the gate and seal off the Basilisks."

"And you left my brother behind to die." Lucatiel's words dripped with icy venom and the Pyromancer shook her head.

"No! I didn't! I mean, I did, but you have to believe me! I would never have done so if he hadn't told me to! I wanted to wait for him, but there were hundreds of them! If even a few had gotten past then everyone in Majula would have been in danger!"

Lucatiel stared long at the young woman before snorting and turning aside. She wasn't happy, but she knew her brother and that was exactly something he would do. Order others to leave the rest to him. Even if it meant his death.

"Fine. I believe you. I suggest you return to the town for now. You need some new clothes and supplies," Lucatiel said softly, and Rosabeth nodded happily.

The dark skinned pyromancer looked as if she wanted to leaved, but her gaze lingered on Erik for a moment. Or rather, to where the Dull Ember and the other Fire Seeds he had collected were hidden.

"If you want, I could infuse your Fire Seed with the rest you have," Rosabeth offered a moment of silence. Erik tilted his head, thinking.

"I have three of them. Can you ensure that they will not immolate me once they're implanted?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Rosabeth said happily. "The stronger the soul, the more power it can handle! It's the same for everyone, be they sorcerer or pyromancer. And just by taking a glance at your soul you could probably manage ten or more seeds!"

"Then please, do so. I need the edge if I am to continue through Drangleic," Erik said, offering the Fire Seeds to Rosabeth. The young woman took them with an eager smile and quickly gripped Erik's left hand in a vice-like grip. Soon, the chef felt his palm heating up from the intense heat of the Fire Seeds and the magic coursing through him.

"It may sting a bit," Rosabeth said belatedly, giving a sheepish smile towards Erik's grimace of pain.

And it did. The pain was hot and terrible, but there was a bitter cold to it as well. The Cyromancy that the young Undead had manifested was entwined with his Pyromancy now, and the both of them were fueled by his elegant, pure soul.

With a flash of purple light, the pain faded and power flooded Erik. He lifted his hand from Rosabeth's slackened grip, and stared at his left hand. His palm was pulsing with light, alternating between red and blue before finally settling upon purple. The heat that normally accompanied his Fire Seed was dulled, more lukewarm now.

"With that, you now have the power of five Fire Seeds inside you! Be careful handling flammable objects for a bit. Don't want to start any forest fires!" Rosabeth said with a smile. She then thanked the two of them for freeing her before rushing out of the tiny building and down the path back to Majula.

"Well, that was something," Erik said with an attempt at levity. It didn't work and his companion turned to face him.

"Erik, I need to ask you a favor." The serious tone of her voice gave the chef an idea of what she wanted to ask. In the background of the somber atmosphere the two could hear Benhart's boisterous voice and footsteps approaching them, but for now they paid it no attention.

"What do you need, Lucatiel?"

"Please, let me go after my brother."

Erik mutely nodded his head. He'd had a feeling that was the request.

"Of course, Lucatiel. We can spend some time looking around for him…"

"You misunderstand, Erik. I'll be going after him alone. You have your own mission to accomplish."

Erik felt his mind shut down as he heard that. In the distance he could swear he heard Benhart suck in a gasp.

"What?"

Lucatiel's body language looked abashed, and ashamed of herself, but she explained.

"My brother is the reason I came to this land. True, I have found other reasons to stay, but I-I want to find him, make sure he's alright. But I know I cannot do so, and have you with me."

"What do you mean, Lucatiel? I promise I won't slow you down!" Erik claimed, terrified she was abandoning him.

"It's not that! If anything I'd slow you down!" Lucatiel said, trying to calm him. "You've become so strong since we first met. From a bumbling chef who could barely bring down an Undead pirate to a man who would throw himself at a Demon of Chaos with a battle cry on his lips. If anything, I am proud of you for your growth."

"But you have your own mission to complete. I do not understand it myself, but right now you are a Monarch Candidate, someone whose destiny is so much greater than my own. I just know you will bring about change to this dying land." Lucatiel removed her mask and gave Erik a kind, reassuring smile.

"I want to continue with you, but I also want to locate my brother. But if you want me to stay, then I will. I swore my sword to your service, after all. _Et sunt Mundi, f_ _lamma meus es tu_!"

Again, in the peanut gallery Benhart gave another gasp, but the pair continued to ignore him. Erik looked down and stared at the lump of charcoal still in his hands, and then at the newly empowered Fire Seed nestled in his left palm. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind at once, before he uttered a depressed sigh.

"I remember that, you know. Your oath. How surprised I was. How honored that you held me in such regard. But I also remember my response. _Ego semper amicus_. I will always be your friend. And I meant it." Erik turned around and placed his brick of blackened wood into the Bottomless Box before returning to face Lucatiel.

"Find your brother, Lucatiel. Do this, for yourself. I care about you. I do not want to see you go Hollow because I forced you to choose between your duties."

Lucatiel teared up and went to Erik, grasping him in a crushing embrace.

"Thank you, Erik. You're truly a friend."

Erik returned the hug, a sad smile on his face.

"Same to you, Lucatiel. Why don't you go back to Majula and find Rosabeth? You should see if she wants to accompany you on your search. She did see him last after all."

"An excellent idea, thank you for it," Lucatiel said, disengaging from the drawn out embrace. "Traveling with a companion is so much better than doing so alone."

Drawing her sword, Lucatiel gave a military salute and a deep bow to Erik before turning away and heading down the path back to the town.

"That was beautiful." Erik jumped, finally registering the fact that there had been an audience for that. He shot Benhart of Jugo a glare who brushed it off.

"I've seen a lot of people in my time. Warriors, bandits, lords, and peasants. Few of them had that much trust and faith in their comrades. The lady was right though. Traveling alone is much more dangerous, and seeing your noble spirit has awakened my own!" the elderly knight sank to one knee while planting his massive sword in the ground before him. Erik's eyes widened in surprise at the act.

"I'm not asking to take the place of your departed knight, but you have the feel of a man loved by fate. And such folk always attract trouble. I'd like to join you on this mission of yours." At this, Benhart looked Erik square in the eye and the chef from Lindelt felt the force of a truly noble soul gazing into his own.

"I've met other people who'd been nominated as this 'Monarch Candidate' but none have had the right feel to them. None made me wish to offer my blade to their service. You, however, are different. Pure yet tempered in fire. Noble and kind but strong and fierce. A white soul that stand out, untainted by the grime around it. I, Benhart of Jugo, the Blue Moon Knight, offer my blade and my body to assist you on this quest. What say you?"

"I say thank you, and welcome aboard," Erik said, a wide grin spreading across his face. He could feel the nobility and honor in this man's soul, just as the knight could sense the chef's. He was depressed about Lucatiel leaving, but he could push on and prove to her that her faith in him was well founded.

Erik shouldered his Bottomless Box and turned to the gate mechanism. Time for a new step on the journey.


	28. Chapter 28: A-head of the Game

**_Chapter 28: A-head of the game_**

After raising the gate, Erik may have over reacted slightly when he saw the bulbous 'eyes' of a Basilisk staring at him in surprise. In his own terror at the sight of the dreaded beast, the chef at thrust out his left hand and shot off a Fireball in a hasty attempt to repel the monster.

The resulting explosion leveled half a dozen trees and left a smoldering crater and just a few flakes of ash to remember the Basilisk with.

"Perhaps I should take point for now," Benhart murmured, and Erik mutely nodded at the suggestion.

So the duo advanced into the overcast forest, following what had once been a road deeper in the depths of Drangleic. Benhart stood at the front, ready to intercept any projectile and warn against approaching threats. Two steps behind and one to the right Erik followed, able to peer past the larger knight to observe any foes or interesting parts of the path.

And there was a lot of interesting things! Growing with almost startling abundancy were countless rare herbs and plants. Wilted Dusk Herbs grew near patches of Dried Roots and trees laden with Goldenfruit. This was not natural, and though the chef eagerly plucked the bounties of the wild, he was worried as to what had caused this to happen.

Wilted Dusk plants had been harvested to extinction on the mainland, much like the Twilight Herb. They grew in places where magic was abundant, which meant that they either appeared near sorcerers and were thus harvested as soon as they appeared, or in places that were populated by magical beasts and were damaged in the hunts to exterminate the monsters.

Dried Roots normally only grew in Lanafir, because they needed the extreme humidity of a jungle to properly grow. Goldenfruit were just plain hard to cultivate because they were susceptible to all sorts of blights and infestations.

In short, none of these plants, and more than a few others, should have been here, and certainly not so close to each other. Something was up, and like most people from Lindelt, he blamed magic. Although in Drangleic that was likely to be the answer nine times out of ten.

Speaking of unnatural, the enemies too were a disgusting menace. Sickly pale yellow in color, with elongated heads that looked snake-like and distended stomachs bloated with both Chaos influenced growth and filled with rotting flesh that could not be digested, the mutant Hollows that roamed this area where utterly vile. Four times the pair had run into them. Twice had been surprisingly thought out ambushes. They were no match for the heavily armed and well trained travelers, but none the less they were an impediment.

Benhart took care of them with ease. He used his massive sword as a shield when they charged or threw rocks, and then with a devastating overhead smash would split them in twain. It was simple, but effective, and despite the basic movement the Undead chef could see that the knight from Jugo was a master at fighting with his gargantuan weapon.

The second foe that was encountered on the way were Basilisks, in ones and twos. They were larger than the specimens Benhart had seen in Jugo, and claimed that the kind native to the desserts did not have those bulbous fake eyes. Of the two foes, these were the most dangerous. Their noxious fumes lingered for several minutes and their speed and jumping distance was terrifying.

Erik picked the Basilisks off with either Fireballs or his newly created Ice Spikes, which were just large spears of magically created ice that he shot off like an arrow at foes. They were twice the size of a throwing knife, though he could make them bigger with more energy and effort. On contact, the Cryomancy spell froze the flesh they pierced, in some cases shattering it when the target moved.

At long last though, the team made it into the remains of a rundown town. Long ago this area had served as a halfway point between Majula and Central Drangleic where further ahead the royal castle stood as well as leading off to two fiefs; the Dukedoms of Aldia and Tseldora.

There was a bonfire up in what looked to be the foyer of a ruined manor, and was the destination for the two weary travelers.

Erik could feel an odd sensation within him as he approached. One part of him felt a tugging on his being, dragging him deep into the woods and towards where the map claimed the legendary mines of Tseldora lay. As for the rest of him, it was chaos.

Many of the souls within that the chef had obtained from his greatest foes screamed out in abject terror. The Flexile Sentry's was trembling in fear, trying to keep their new owner away from the direction of the territory Duke Aldia had once ruled. The Ruin Sentinels' soul vibrated eagerly as they sensed their old master's domain and tried to pull Erik towards it. Worst of all was the souls of the Last Giant and the Lost Sinner. Pure, utter loathing and disgust emanated from them as they neared Aldia's realm, and instead of trying to push Erik away, they seemed to scream out for the Undead chef to smash and shatter all that that man had touched. They roared for vengeance, screamed for justice, and howled for blood.

It took all of Erik's will power not to just fall to his knees from the overwhelming pounding that filled his mind as different images and sensations fought for attention within him.

With a gasp of relief, Erik sank to the dirt in front of the bonfire. He sighed with relief as the clamor of the souls abated, the mystical flames soothing and silencing them.

"Are you alright?" Benhart asked in concern. Erik gave a feeble nod.

"The brat is stuffed full of souls. Many of them are old and powerful and retain some degree of memory as too their past. Ironic, is it not? Souls are needed to avoid dying and going Hollow, yet they bleed into their new owners, tainting their minds and hastening the process," a dark, almost demented voice called down to the two and Benhart whipped around and placed himself in front of Erik.

"Who goes there?" The knight demanded, and in response a figure appeared over the edge of the crumbling staircase, staring down at the two Undead.

In the haze of fading pain, Erik thought he recognized the man that now leered at him.

"Were you the soldier from Mirrah who was trapped in that cell in the Huntsman's Copse?" Erik inquired, seeing the white stag's head emblazoned on the chest piece of the man.

"Indeed. I am Creighton of Mirrah. I thank you for freeing me," he said, giving a respectful nod of his head towards the chef. Erik stood up and returned the gesture.

"It seems we meet again. Are you still on the trail of the man who betrayed you?" Erik inquired and Benhart's ears pricked up at that. He loved a good quest, after all!

"Yes. That cursed thief… leaving me for dead… trapping me… Pate will rue the day he crossed me," the warrior swore, hatred thick in his voice and he tightened his grip on his axe's handle.

"Wait, the man who betrayed you was Pate? As in, the man with a large spear and shield?" Erik inquired, surprised. It seemed his female companions had been correct when they'd commented on the treasure hunter's sketchiness.

"Yes! That whoreson first led me into a trap, so he could claim the loot over my dead body! Then, when I escaped, he fled! I tracked him down to the Copse, but he was one step ahead and turned my own trap against me." Creighton growled, shooting the chef a look. "He then made his way from the Earthen Peaks with an old man, whom he then abandoned like he did with me! I've finally got his scent though! Just a few days past he was headed towards the Brightstone Cove."

"How did you manage to find that out?" Benhart inquired. Such tracking skills were impressive.

"The forest beyond here, the Shaded Woods, is filled with a strange bunch of tree huggers. They worship this hideous cat-like monster, but as long as you do not harm their trees or tread too deep into their territory they'll leave you alone. Show respect, and you can trade with them. I bartered for the information," Creighton explained. "And until then, well, I was part of the Border Guard for a reason. Give me a target and I can find its trail no matter the terrain. Ah, the thrill of the hunt…"

He trailed off, remembering something or other from his past, before snapping back to the present.

"What can you tell us about the areas up ahead?" Erik inquired.

"They're a mess. The Lion Clan is on the warpath, but I don't know why and neither do the Forest Watchers. Plus, there's been a large number of Basilisks recently, trampling the local wildlife," Creighton explained.

"Damn. That'll make things difficult," Erik groused. He then looked up at the man who stood at the top of the ruined staircase. There was something broken about the man. Something bent and torn and twisted that the man from Mirrah barely hid, but also relished in.

He was close to Hollowing. Erik wasn't sure how he could tell, but there was something that told him such. When Creighton found his target, and when he exacted his revenge on Pate, the soldier would snap. He was already on his last legs. In fact, he should have Hollowed long ago. Only his thoughts of revenge kept him sane. Only his hatred and purpose held the tatters of his Humanity together.

By all rights, Erik should have ignored him at best, or tried to put him out of his misery. But he didn't. Instead, the chef took a deep breath, and made a choice.

"I too am seeking to head towards the Brightstone Cove. If possible, would you care to join us?"

Creighton was silent for a long while, fidgeting and fingering his axe as he continued to ponder the offer. Finally, he gave a slow nod in acceptance.

"Thank you. I shall accept you generous offer. It has been a long time since I have had companions. It might make for a better chance to catch that thief as well," the warrior from Mirrah announced.

"Come on down then. I'm going to be making a quick meal before heading into the Shaded Woods," Erik declared, removing pots and pans and ingredients as he did.

Creighton was silent but complied all the same, walking down and taking a spot in front of the bonfire with the knight from Jugo on his left and Erik straight across from him.

"Been a long time I've eaten anything. What is it going to be?"

"Grilled mushrooms and moth meat. I got quite a good haul of the former from this forest, and the latter from Huntsman Copse."

A nostalgic gleam entered Creighton's eyes, visible even through the slits in his visor, which did not go unnoticed by Erik. Internally the chef smiled, pleased at having guessed correctly what the man needed for a pick-me-up.

Benhart just looked happy to have a warm meal after so long.

"I notice you wear the same armor as I do, or at least the emblem. Are you also from Mirrah?" Creighton inquired, an almost hard edge to his question. The knight just chuckled and shook his head.

"No, this was a gift," Benhart explained, touching the faded stiches of his chest plate tunic. A fond smile crossing his lips. "It was a few years after I arrived here, and I found a man about to go Hollow. He begged me for one final duel, and I obliged. He offered me his armor if I won, and so I took his request."

The swordsman from Jugo then frowned slight.

"I never got to finish the duel, though. Some Brothers of Blood invaded and we drove them off, but my opponent perished during the battle. Sadly, he did not return to the bonfire upon death, so I knew he'd gone Hollow. I took his armor before he revived and the rest is history. I've treasured it ever since, to honor the man's wish for a battle he could never complete."

"Honorable," Creighton muttered, shaking his head in either amusement or disgust. It was hard to tell.

All the while Erik cooked, searing the large mushrooms in the bonfire's enchanted flames while he sprinkled sage on the segments of diced up moth flesh. After some time staring at the flames, he removed the mushrooms and chopped them into tiny parts, and then skewered the meat chunks and mushrooms together on tiny wooden spears he'd purchased from Melentia back in Majula.

Satisfied, Erik finished cooking the skewers and handed them out to the waiting men. Creighton removed his all enclosing helmet to eat, and revealed a head of black hair and a fair bit of stubble on his chin. A long scar traced down the left side of his face, barely missing his eye and curving across his jaw.

Groans of pleasure come from the men as they tucked in, giving their praise with every bite.

"Oh, this is fantastic! Such simple ingredients but such vibrant flavors! Dishes worthy of the royal court without a doubt!" Benhart cried. Creighton just tore into the meal, trickles of juice running down his chin.

Erik partook of his talents as well, chewing happily. Until something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Up at the top of the stairs and near the Shaded Woods entryway was a fat, grey cat. At first glance, Erik thought it might have been Shalquoir, but a second look conviced the cook that if the cat from Majula ever heard him admit that, he'd have claw marks on his face.

This creature looked like a large cat in body, but its neck was nonexistent, and its face had a hideously wide mouth full of jagged teeth that seemed stretched in a perpetual grin. Which was quite unsettling to see peering down at you.

"Creighton, does the cat from the forest you mentioned have an unnaturally sharp looking smile?" Erik asked. Creighton and Benhart, not being fools, turned around quickly to try and see what Erik did. Sadly, they did, and their guts clenched a bit upon seeing the malformed feline.

"So the rumors went," Creighton admitted. The beast stared at them for a bit, before sashaying away and fading into a puff of mist.

"Does anyone else feel like it wanted us to follow it?" Erik inquired and the two men nodded. With a sigh, Erik began to pack up his supplies and finish off his meal quickly. Creighton and Benhart followed suit, devouring the food and getting their equipment ready. Once they were all set, they headed up to the entrance to the fog shrouded forest and saw the cat sitting at the end near a tree, just waiting.

"Do you think this is a trap?" Creighton asked, and Erik and Benhart shrugged as the terrifying kitty melting away into yet more mist.

"If it is, you can all say 'I told you so' when we revive at the bonfire," Erik offered and his companions chuckled in agreement.

Striding forward, the team followed the strange creature through the almost impenetrable fog and gloom. Bizarre trees with faces littered the path, and Creighton warned them to stay as far from them as possible. They complied, not willing to approach the twisted plant life if they could help it.

But after some time, the group came upon a tumbled down rotunda, ancient stone blanketed with moss. There was the grinning feline sitting in the center, looking from them to a red helmet than back to them before vanishing again.

Erik approached, hand resting on the hilt of his Heide sword, ready to fight if needed. He stomach clenched when he saw that the helmet had a head still inside it, severed and pale in death.

"What business do you have here, traveler?"

Erik would never admit to screaming like a child and leaping back in fear. He would, however, claim he had been surprised. Blank grey eyes stared up at the Lindelt native, conveying annoyance with just eyebrows.

"Did that head just talk?" Benhart asked in shock, which made Creighton laugh darkly.

"Even after so long I continue to be surprised by the horrors of this land. So tell me, who were you?"

The eyes swiveled to Creighton before the head spoke again.

"You may call me Vengarl, ye who reek as I do. That is, if I deserve a name in this sorry state."

"Vengarl? The Crimson Murder? The Bloody Lion? The Red Rust Knight of Forossa?!" Benhart cried, awed at being in the presence of a legend.

Creighton looked uncomfortable, having his stench compared to a blood soaked butcher, but did not protest. Erik however just looked disturbed.

"How are you still talking? I'm not a doctor but I do know you need a throat and lungs to speak," Erik said, oddly focused on this rather than anything else. Then again, this was Drangleic; weirdness was around every corner.

"I do not know. I was hired to protect this kingdom and so I did for many a year. I hunted the Undead, I slaughtered bandits and malcontents. But one day King Vendrick commanded me to go to the Brightstone Cove and bring him Duke Tseldora, dead or alive. I was not sure why at first, but upon arriving at the dukedom, I saw horrors upon horrors. Men twisted into insectoid monsters and made to slave away in the mines, gargantuan spiders feeding on prisoners, corrupt priests lording over the people…" Vengarl's voice faltered as he recalled the past.

"I fought my way to the Duke's manor, but upon entering the last thing I remember was a giant scythe-like leg swinging at my neck. I woke up, headless and alone in the dust of the mines."

"Then how did you get here?" Benhart inquired.

"The Gyrm. They had lived hidden in the mountains and caves of the region for generations, but the Duke's experiments forced them to defend themselves. They came across me, and placed me here. Why, I do not know. I could not speak their tongue to ask them. But now here I sit, alone with my thoughts for all eternity," the ancient knight mused, staring up at the sky.

"When the sky is clear, I can see the stars. And I cannot help but lament my old life," Vengarl admitted, a sigh of regret on his lips. "I spent so much time fighting and killing, that I'd forgotten what peace was."

"Do you perhaps know why a cat made of mist would lure us here?" Creighton asked, speaking up and slightly derailing the mood. The warrior from Mirrah ignored the looks he was getting and stared at the decapitated man.

Somehow, Vengarl mimed a shrug.

"If you mean Alvina, then no. Such a sad beast. A memory of a memory she is. Touched by the Dark but forever watching over the Light. She speaks to me occasionally, when she is lucid. Such a sad soul she is, to have been forced to witness the First Flame die so many times." Vengarl let out a sigh. "She claims to guard the tomb of an old friend. Deep in this woods lies the grave of one who fought the Primeval Darkness and drove it back at the cost of their own life."

Something stirred in Erik, and the Soul of an Ancient King woke.

A knight clad in silver and blue, fighting alongside a masked woman, a giant with a bow, and a man dressed in the armor of the Dragonslayer of the Blue Sentinels, though it was new and gold instead of tarnished and black. They fought alongside tens of thousands of knights in silver armor against countless Dragons made of Stone Everlasting. Leading them was a man crowned in sunlight who hurled lightning to tear off the scales of the beasts so his men could wipe them out.

Another scene, this time of the blue and silver knight training a wolf pup, and the ancient king smiled fondly at his favored warrior.

Horror, shock, disbelief! A man, covered in pulsating black tumors, screamed to the God of Light that Oolacile, the original kingdom of Man, had been swallowed by the Abyss.

With a heavy heart the king can do nothing but seal off the area. Three of his knights volunteer for what is certainly their final mission. The king, who was personally touched by the First Flame, watched with a heavy heart as his nephew went off to die, laughing all the while as he played with the wolf pup…

"Artorias… Sif…" Erik gasped, clutching his head, the visions fading.

"Did you say something?" Benhart inquired, looking to his leader, with Creighton looking on as well. Vengarl, however, had a different look, one of surprise.

"How do you know those names? Alvina only ever mentioned them once, and it was barely a whisper! What sort of man are you to know the names of the Abysswalker and the Great Wolf, they who were there when the First Flame was born?!"

"My name is Erik Potts, chef of Lindelt," the young Undead replied. "And apparently also a Monarch Candiate."

Vengarl's eyes widened, then narrowed, before a chuckle escaped him.

"Well isn't this a surprise? It seems that Aldia failed. Serves the slimy worm right, trying to mess with forces beyond his ken." His looked turned sour. "Though that means that Vendrick's plot is the one to succeed? How odd…"

Erik just stared at the head, before walking over and plucking it from where it lay.

"Wait, what are you…?"

"You know some things about what's going on it seems, and I'd very much like answers. However I also don't have time to sit around all day, so I'm taking you with me. We can walk and talk."

Benhart and Creighton looked flabbergasted as the chef proceeded to hook the head-in-a-helm to his belt, wearing the legendary knight like a gristly trophy.

"Stop this! Put me down! I do not want any more adventurers, I'm tired of them! Just let me rest for the first and last time in my life!" Vengarl pleaded, not at all sounding like the infamous warrior he supposedly was.

Erik just shook his head.

"No. I'm tired of being in the dark about my mission and this deal with the First Flame and Vendrick and Aldia and the Emerald Herald and everything! No more! I will be getting my answers, and by the Gods if I have to wear you like a belt buckle then so be it!"

The Undead chef stalked out of the ruins, his two comrades just staring in shock before hurrying after their leader. They had never seen him so resolute or manly. Benhart silently amused himself thinking of the swordswoman from Mirrah swooning over the boy's sudden shift in attitude.

Behind them, almost going unheard, a faint feminine voice called out to them.

"Thank you for giving my friend a chance to stretch his legs… oh-ho-ho!" When they looked back, only dissipating mist greeted them, though Erik could have sworn a leering grin stared back at him for a brief moment.


	29. Chapter 29: Lions and Lizards

_**Chapter 29: Lions and Lizards**_

"Truly, you are Donovan's offspring." Vengarl, or at least his head, was sitting on a piece of rubble in front of a bonfire watching the chef as he cooked up a meal. Erik just rolled his eyes and continued working while his other companions checked their equipment.

The group of three and a quarter had wandered aimless through the Shaded Woods, occasionally being escorted by a ghostly feline that popped up here and there. Along the way Erik had revealed his name and the decapitated head had been surprised.

Apparently Donovan Potts had spent a lot of time in King Vendrick's domain and met the mercenary from Forossa a few times. They had even struck up a slight friendship. Donovan knew about cuisine from Fallen Forossa, and having been born after the collapse of the kingdom Vengarl had never had a chance to sample any of it. Comradery born of food was nothing to scoff at.

After a few hours the all-encompassing fog had been escaped and they were now sitting in a mossy ruin. Supposedly this was once a large town by the name of Cree, which was the only settlement right before the dukedom capitol city, also called Tseldora. Naming sense was not something Vendrick or his court had even been renowned for.

During the travels the head gladly shared his experiences and tales of the past with a curious audience.

"I remember this one time Donovan was cooking in the woods and a skunk up and sprayed him," Vengarl chuckled, remembering various times. "He just kept going, and somehow his food tasted still tasted good."

"The boy hasn't been squirted with any noisome fluids yet, or at least, not that I know of," Benhart said, a hearty laugh on his lips.

"Give it time. This is Drangleic after all." Creighton added his two copper coins, joining in on the time honored tradition of making fun of the chef.

"Keep talking and I might forget to make the rest of you a serving," Erik said snidely, a note of warning in his words.

So, Vengarl, what lies ahead? How do we reach the Brightstone Cove?" Benhart asked, seamlessly switching topics.

"It's been so long, my memory and knowledge might be lacking, but there should be a pass leading through the mountains to the mines. We could take the longer route, but I do not know how safe it would be. Far easier to sneak through Cree than be in the open."

"What about the Basilisks? Those beasts are crawling all over the area," Creighton stated, and Vengarl somehow mimed a shrug again, despite being just a head.

"They're mere animals. Large and dangerous, but still animals. They can be tricked and evaded. Smear mud onto your body to hide your body heat, mix the mud with some Lemongrass to cover up your scent, and you will be free to sneak past. Animals are animals. Basilisks are no exception. Sure, they're somewhat larger than normal, and more dangerous, but they are dumb."

"Also, they're delicious!"

Everyone looked at Erik who shrugged. "What? Donovan left a lot of recipes for Basilisk meat in his tome. It would be blasphemy for a chef not to try and cook them!"

"That aside, what do you know about the Lion Clan? I know they've been spotted around here," Creighton inquired again.

"There is a small Pride in Drangleic, but I don't know where they live. If we run into them I suppose I could try and talk with them."

"You can speak their tongue?" Benhart asked, surprised. The Lion Clan, also known as the Lionkin, lived primarily in Jugo and the deeper sands of the desert, existing as warrior-nomads who skirmished with his people often. Their language was mostly unknown, as they were isolationist and mistrusting of humans.

"My blood-brother and I traveled the world in our youth before we chose to come to Drangleic. We met a Pride of Lionkin when we were in Jugo and became friends of theirs. We both learned their tongue and taught them ours. Ah, I miss them. Such a wise culture of warriors." Vengarl sighed in reminiscence.

"Since you're being so forthcoming about various matters, why don't you tell me about this whole 'Monarch Candidate' business?" Erik prodded with a thin smile directed at the head.

"Look, kid, I'd like to help you, really, but what I know is limited. I've already told you that Vendrick and his creepy older brother were competing to see who could find a way to revive the First Flame," Vengarl said with a sigh.

"Aldia wanted to use Dragons in conjunction with the bonfire system –somehow- while Vendrick was of the mind that he could focus the energy of Humanity using some sort of magical wishing chair." At that the head snorted.

"His 'Throne of Want' would supposedly become a conduit for fathomless powers and use those to reignite the First Flame. It was all thanks to his weird wife that he was able to come up with the device at all. As for the Monarch Candidates, they were just people with souls strong enough to withstand the strain of using the Throne of Want. Anything more than that is going to be guess work."

"Why would Aldia's plan be worse than his brother's?" Erik asked after a lull of contemplative silence.

"If we go with his experiments as a base, then no way in Hell would I agree with it," Vengarl snarled, fury dripping in every word. "I saw some of the stuff he did, kid. Mutants and abominations born from the depths of blackest magic. I would not trust him with organizing a bake sale, let alone the salvation of the world."

"A bake sale? Really?" Creighton asked with an incredulous look. "Does anyone even do those anymore outside of Lindelt?"

"Hey, baking pastries and then selling them to raise money for the local church is a time honored tradition in my homeland!" Erik retorted, giving a glare at the axe-wielding warrior.

They went back to wait for the chef to finish lunch, letting the sounds of the forest wash over them. Creepy monkey laughs from those strange pots aside, it was rather pleasant.

"Um, guys? Does anyone else hear that?" Erik asked out of the blue, gulping in fear.

The group froze, listening intently. A second later a deafening burbling shriek echoed through the ruins, followed by a chorus of much softer roars.

"Those are Lionkin roars!" Vengarl cried, trying to twist himself to stare off in the direction of the howls.

"And a Basilisk!" Benhart claimed, identifying the first sound. The group shared some looks, and then burst into action. Erik whimpered but left his food near the bonfire, packing up what he could and unfastening his Heide sword, ready for a fight. He also scooped up Vengarl's head and attached him to the belt. Muted grumbling came from the helmet but was ultimately ignored.

Rushing through the ruins, the trio plus baggage reached a ramp where the roars were emanating from, and made their way up them.

What greeted them was a sight straight out of legends and bardic tales.

Over two dozen massive, lion-headed figures rushed about a clearing in a forest, clutching massive axes and crude wooden shields, though a few had simple bows and one had a staff made of bones that glowed pinkish-purple as it hurled bolts of sorcerous energy around.

And towering over them was a gargantuan Basilisk. It was huge, ten times larger than the largest Basilisk any of them had ever seen. Its skin was pitch black, with pulsing red markings running along its body. A white mark shaped like a crown was on the top of its head, though slightly hidden by blood. It's eyes, normally so small and hard to spot, were glowing a baleful violet as they stared out at the Lionkin that attacked it. Around its feet were dozens of much smaller Basilisks, though still unnaturally big.

Its maw, wide enough to swallow a man whole, gaped open for a second and then a Lionkin's upper torso vanished in a spray of blood as it bite down, slaying one of them. The body exploded into golden flames a moment later, and it was clear that this was a battle between Undead and a titan.

One of the bulbous fake eyes on its head was ruptured and leaking thick black smoke and blood, and the skin flapped around like an obscene cape. The giant Basilisk inhaled before expelling a cloud of grey-black mist that turned flesh to stone on contact.

Most of the Lionkin leapt clear, but a few limbs were caught and quickly petrified. But the warriors didn't let that stop them as they hacked off their own cursed appendages to stop the spread of the stone.

"What should we do?" Creighton asked, staring at the sight with an awed expression. Benhart was no better, almost insensate at the spectacle before him.

Erik, though also shocked, was a bit more focused. Partly because he could somehow understand what the Lionkin were saying.

"Hold the line, hold the line! We cannot let it get past us!"

"But Pride-Leader, Klan'r just fell! We have no more Axe-Leaders or Undead with which to keep the beast at bay!"

"If we do not hold fast then these monsters will rip apart our wives and children! Do not take a single step back! We either slay this beast here or we all die!"

"We need to help them!" Vengarl cried at the same time Erik announced "We're going to help them!"

Their companions looked at the chef and head as if they were crazy. Jumping into that would be suicide! Even if they were Undead, petrification was perhaps the most dangerous weapon to use against them. After all, even an Undead if petrified was subject to permeate death. After all, how could the dead reanimate if sealed inside cursed stone? The curse of the Basilisk was strong, and in some cases could even overpower the wretched Dark Sign. And even if it didn't being trapped as a statue for centuries was unappealing.

"They're protecting their families," Erik said, unwavering determination filling him. "I will not let innocents be slaughtered when I could have acted to save them. Now come on! Let's do some good in this blighted land for once!"

His words had a stirring effect of the two warriors, and they gripped their weapons tightly.

The chef started off their attack by conjuring a massive lance of ice that he hurled at the giant Basilisk. It missed due to the monster possessing unnatural agility for such a being that size and instead slew three smaller Basilisks when it hit the ground after the big one jumped aside.

Now everyone's eyes were on him, and by extension his group. The Lionkin were hesitant at the sight of three clearly armed Undead, though the severed head that was spitting insults at the man who was wearing him like a belt buckle made some eyebrows rise.

The giant Basilisk and its smaller brood did not have such cares. All they saw was more victims to prey upon. With foul drool dribbling from its stained fangs, the towering monster leapt at the humans!

Only to be sent hurtling backwards by Erik's new Pyromancy.

Courtesy of Nadalia and the Iron Crown, Outcry released a shockwave of searing flames that scorched the Basilisk's flesh. The smaller ones died, immolated, while the larger one leered at the suddenly dangerous prey and slowly began to realize it might have been outnumbered.

With a warbling roar the Giant Basilisk turned and fled, trailing embers, blood, and black mist, its tinier kin trailing after it.

A great cheer went up from the Lionkin as they saw their foe retreat. Now that the swarm was gone though, that meant they could focus on the newcomers.

"What are you humans doing here?" One of the warriors hissed. He was the largest of the band, with a thick mane that had intricate braids woven into it. His weapon, a large axe, was worn but still gleamed wickedly, and his armor looked as if it had seen better days, being little more than scraps of leather clinging to his form.

"My name is Erik Potts! I am just here to cross over to the Brightstone Cove!" The chef stated, holding his hands out in a non-threatening manner. The Lionkin just tilted their heads.

"What's going on?" Creighton hissed, nervously fingering his weapon.

"I don't know. I can understand them, but it seems they can't understand me," Erik claimed. "My Ring of Whispers only works so far."

"Let me handle this," Vengarl sighed. "Warriors of the Pride! I and my companions seek to pass through you territory. We mean you no trouble if none is offered."

"I didn't know you could speak the Lionkin tongue!" Benhart exclaimed, causing Erik to frown down at his head.

"What are you talking about? He was speaking Common!"

"No, he was growling and sounding like a strangled cat," Creighton interjected.

"Look, kid, you're wearing a Ring of Whispers, remember? I don't know where you found that but it allows the wearer to comprehend any spoken language," Vengarl explained, rolling his eyes. "But stay quiet and let me speak. They cannot understand you."

"Apologies, my companion can hear you but not speak your language," Vengarl said to the Lionkin.

"You! The Bloody Head! So the Mistress of the Forest has seen fit to release you at last," the spokescat for the warriors said in surprise. "It has been a while since any of us have entered her domain and spoken with you!"

"Indeed, Alvina has. And I remember you. Some of your young warriors would come to me to learn of war at my feet. Figuratively speaking." There was a tone of bitterness in the head's voice and his gaze flickered up to Erik. "As for how I can speak the Lionkin's tongue, I spent a few years among the Pride of Talrok in Jugo. I learned much from them."

"The Talrok's are dead, Bloody Head. Wiped out many years ago by the humans," the warrior hissed, and Vengarl looked pained.

"Did they at least die with honor?"

"Yes."

The conversation flowed for a bit longer between the Lionkin leader and Vengarl, before Creighton started to get annoyed at being left out of the conversation and being forced to have Erik translating everything.

"Pride-Leader Rav'el, may I ask if there is anyone who can speak the human tongue among you? My companions grow weary of not understanding," Vengarl cut in before the Mirrahian soldier could do anything.

"A few. Though only Pur'nen was fluent," Rav'el, the chieftain, said. "Sadly he was petrified a few days ago."

"I have something that could free him then!" Erik spoke up. "The smoke from this log of wood released someone from their stone prison, so would this work for him?"

"The statues are kept with the Pride, and we dare not risk moving them. Yet we will not risk letting our women and children be harmed by you humans should you turn on us," Rav'el said when Vengarl translated.

"Pride-Leader, if they can undo the curse, is it not better to risk at least the weak one's presence?"

"He throws fire and ice like a sorcerer flings spells, so he is not weak," Rav'el retorted to his subordinate who shrunk back.

"Then why not let the Clawed One judge their worth? He can see souls can he not?"

The Pride-Leader opened his mouth to retort, before snapping it shut and closing his eyes in contemplation.

"Meet with our sage, and if he deems you pure of heart and noble of soul, we will permit the Frozen Flame to enter the clan to undo the petrifaction. If not, well, the Clawed One will ensure you do not harm us," Rav'el declared, to which Erik nodded.

"Take me to this wise man of yours. I'll prove my intentions."

Vengarl was handed over to Benhart to hold while Erik was examined by the Lionkin's mysterious sage. Rav'el led the chef into a rundown building that was being used as a makeshift field hospital. Wounded Lionkin lounged against the walls or reclined on straw mats and stared at the Undead human as he passed.

The cook from Lindelt did not let their stares bother him too much though, and was soon led down into a basement and then into an open air store house like room, where an open, sand filled space lay.

It was the person within the pseudo-arena that made Erik stumble a bit when he caught sight of them. It looked like what happened with Mytha wasn't an isolated occurrence.

The naked torso of a man was fused to the dark off-blue shell of a scorpion. The pincers were large and looked heavy while the stinger was slightly stubbier than seemed normal based on proportions. The person was not in perfect shape either. Bandages were wrapped around the chest, and one of the legs was bent in a painful looking manner. Bright green fluid leaked from a few smaller wounds along the scorpion's side that were uncovered, and the sand beneath the man looked black with dried ichor staining it.

"Ah, Rav'el. How goes the battle?" The man's voice was deep and regal and carried a strong will behind it. Whoever he had been before Chaos claimed him, he had been a leader of some kind.

"It goes well, Lord Tark. We have driven off the King Basilisk, but with heavy casualties. In fact, if it were not for this human here we would have been overrun." Rav'el stepped aside and presented Erik to the man-scorpion whose eyes narrowed when they landed on the Undead chef.

"You are a Monarch Candidate are you not?" Tark demanded and Erik nodded.

"So people have said. I never intended to become such, and have found myself forced onto this route," Erik admitted and Tark snorted.

"I have met a few of them myself in the past, and you're the most polite of the lot. I assume my friend wishes for me to see if you are not a threat?"

"Yes. I have an object that might be able to undo the petrification of his clansmen," Erik said, holding out the lump of charcoal made from the odd wood.

"A Fragrant Branch of Yore! Such a rare item!" Tark exclaimed, leaning forward in surprise. "Such a thing would definitely free one from a Basilisk's curse."

"Only the oldest of Arch-trees produced them, and such things are rare even in Drangleic. You have great luck to find such a large chunk," Tark elaborated, before turning to Rav'el. "This young Undead is a pure soul, despite the wretched destiny hoisted upon his shoulders. He will willingly do no harm to your people."

The Lionkin bowed respectful to Tark, before turning to Erik.

"This way. We're keeping the statues over here."

Rav'el led the chef through a passageway nearby the man-scorpion, and they entered an underground complex. Several Lionkin tensed as the two approached, and though they remained wary around Erik at Rav'el's command they allowed him to pass. Further along, the pair came to a wide cavern-like area filled with Lionkin. Mostly women and children, a few grey haired ones stood around, clutching weapons ready to die in order to buy time for the young. Near the front in a cleared space over three dozen petrified figures stood, some in amusing stances.

"Here. Do what needs to be done and we shall discuss what comes next," the Pride-Leader instructed and Erik stepped up, heating the lump of Fragrant Branch with his Pyromancy. In moments thin wisps of smoke trailed off of the charcoal, and he wandered among the stoned Lionkin, letting the sweet scented dark grey cloud wash over everyone.

Like with Rosabeth, the stone flaked off completely revealing nude bodies, but given that the Lionkin were mostly covered in fur it didn't cause that much of a reaction from the young man. He did look away out of politeness, and hastily made his way back to Rav'el as some of the expressions on the newly freed Lionkin were anything but thankful.

"Peace, brothers and sisters! This human was judged by Tark to be pure, and he is the one who broke the Basilisk's curse!" Rav'el announced, and mutterings swept through. A grey maned male stepped up, uncaring about his nudity.

"My name is Pur'nen, the medicine-cat for the Pride. I speak the human tongue well enough. Who am I addressing?"

"Erik Potts of Lindelt. Also, an unwilling Monarch Candidate," the chef revealed, earning a wave of gasps and mutters from the crowd once translated. Pur'nen cocked his head to the side, silently evaluating Erik. He nodded after a moment and turned to his people.

"The human is not to be harmed. His mission is one that will save us from the Darksign!" A few cheers erupted here and there, but for the most part there was little jubilation. Still, the anger was dispersed and the crowd broke up, some to find clothes, others to look for family.

"Come, let us return to Tark. There is much to discuss," Pur'nen said, patting Erik on the back in praise.

Once back with the Chaos twisted man Erik looked at the group that had assembled. His companions had been summoned as well, and they kept a wary distance from Tark.

"So, what exactly do we need to talk about?" Erik inquired, sitting down in the sand facing the man-scorpion.

"What comes next. Before you can venture further toward the Brightsone Cove, I must ask you for help in three matters," Tark began. "First, help the Lionkin slay the King Basilisk. If left alone it will continue to breed more and more and they will sweep over the land. Second, help me free a friend of mine and a guest of the Pride. They were trapped when the Basilisks invaded."

"And the third task?" Benhart asked after Pur'nen finished translating.

"Help me kill my wife."

Utter silence filled the arena and Crieghton shook with repressed emotions.

"You want us to do what?!" The Mirriahian snarled, reaching for his axe. "You want us to become murderers for hire?"

"I should have phrased that better," Tark admitted, looking sheepish. "Let me explain; my wife, Najka, is like me. Tainted by Chaos through wretched experiments, she has slowly lost her mind. I have been able to keep her stable and grounded, but when the Basilisks showed up we were separated. She was having a fit, and I fear it is impossible for me to calm her down now. I have tried, but between her rage and the Basilisks, I've taken too many wounds to continue fighting. If we do nothing she will kill anyone in her path."

"Experimented on?" Benhart asked.

"Duke Tseldora was a twisted man," Vengarl spoke up, surprising the group. "I was ordered by King Vendrick to slay the man if I could not bring him in to answer for his crimes. He'd been experimenting with Chaos and Hexes on the peasants and commoners of the dukedom, and it was rumored he had managed to incubate a Blight strain."

Flinches went around the group, even the Lionkin shivering in fear. The Blight was a Chaos induced plague, and those it infected mutated into vile Lesser Demons. Not as strong as a true Demon, but they could spread the infection through Blightpus by wounding others. If not contained it would become a tide of demonic beasts.

"Indeed. My wife and I were captured by the duke and imprisoned for his sick research. I-I do not remember much of my past life, before we lived in those cages. So much was lost in the Chaos, the madness and the pain," Tark admitted.

"Najka suffered the worst of all, and her sanity always hung by a thread. Without me to comfort her…"

"We'll do what can," Erik promised. Although he and the rest of his companions looked saddened by what they had to do, they understood there was no choice.

"Very well then. First, we should deal with the immediate issue of the Basilisks," Pur'nen said, speaking to the group. "Thankfully the first and second tasks can be done at once."

"That's correct. The Basilisks have taken up residence in the tunnels beneath us to the north-east, and that is where our guest hid herself when the attack came. We know she's alive, for we can communicate through a tiny air vent, but we cannot reach her without clearing out the infestation," Rav'el explained.

"So, kill that enormous Basilisk, free a lady, kill a demoness. If I knew we'd be having this much fun, I'd have continued on my own," Creighton grumbled. Benhart just slapped the brooding soldier on the back.

"Cheer up! At least you can say you've done it!"

"So, I'm just a head. Is there any chance I can sit this one out?" Vengarl asked hopefully. To that, Erik just strapped the severed body part back onto his belt. This at least earned a smile from Creighton. After all, misery loves company.


	30. Chapter 30: Till Death do us Part

_**Chapter 30: Till Death Do Us Part**_

"Is everyone in position?"

Soft murmurs of confirmation greeted the hushed query from Erik, and Rav'el nodded.

The Undead chef was crouching near the entrance to a tunnel which led deep into a series of old passages ways that at one point had been the basement of a mansion and the rest of the town. Now though, naught was left but ruins. These depths were the perfect place for the recently arrive Basilisk swarm to dwell.

With Erik were his two companions as well as Pride-Leader Rav'el. Behind him were a dozen Lionkin armed with axes, ready to storm the tunnel and drive out the monsters within.

The plan was simple, use his Cryomancy to sap the strength of the beasts and use that as an advantage to kill them. Erik couldn't use his Pyromancy because in the tunnels the Lionkin's guest was hiding. The fire would suck out the oxygen of the enclosed space and hurt her. Instead, he'd have to settle for ice.

Taking a deep breath, Erik reached out his left hand and placed the palm onto the dirt. Focusing, he let the magic work itself into the soil before he ripped the warmth and heat from it, and frost quickly began to crackle and pop along the interior.

Surprised croaks came from within, though they quieted down after a bit. Erik kept it up for a moment longer though as he didn't want to leave anything to chance.

"OK, let's go!" Erik said, standing up and drawing his long sword. Creighton gripped his axe, Benhart clutched his sword's hilt, and Vengarl bared his teeth. The Lionkin readied themselves as well, and with a muted battle cry they swept inside.

It was nice and easy. The Basilisks were reptiles and the enchanted cold had done a number on them. Some had even died where they'd stood. None of the invaders took any chances though and stabbed them repeatedly just to make sure.

The group encountered several piles of eggs that had frozen over, and Erik carefully extracted some of the smaller ones and placed them in the Bottomless Box to use as caviar in a future dish. Erik also took the time to slice off choice cuts of Basilisk meat as well. He earned some odd looks, but in the end food was food and the Lionkin had no problems with feeding on the flesh of monsters.

At last, after several winding turns, the group encountered the King Basilisk. Its massive form was riddled with wounds, and there was ice creeping up along it. Yet the monster lived, it chest heaving up and down in spite of everything. It was lying in front of an iron door that Rav'el confirmed to be the one they wanted, and Erik sighed.

He stepped forward and conjured a large ice spike before hurling it into the oversized Basilisk. This close he couldn't miss, and it went clean through its head, killing it instantly.

With a groaning sigh it perished, and with that anticlimactic act, the mission was over. Of course, had Erik not been there this would have been impossible as none of the Lionkin could use Sorcery or Pyromancy strong enough to wipe out dozens of Basilisks at once.

"Help me carve off some of the meat," Erik commanded, and the order was passed along by Vengarl, which was grudgingly accepted by the Lionkin. As they butchered the remains, Rav'el approached the door hidden behind the carcass and inserted a key into the lock, opening it.

"Oh! The door opens! Amazing! Amazing! I thought I'd never get out!" A chipper female voice declared, and Rav'el bowed politely at the unseen speaker.

"It is a pleasure to see you still live, Soulsmith. I could not face the Brass Knight if you had perished."

"Oh, she's a scary one but not all that bad! And I was only trapped for six months, eight days, and eleven hours! Hardly any time at all!"

Erik blinked at the odd conversation, only for his jaw to drop when he saw the thing that stepped out from the doorframe.

It had the body of a female human, but the arms were giant black feathered wings and their head was that of a crow! Even though it was naked there was no lust when Erik looked upon it, just a strange sense of unease. The souls of the Old Witch and Old King rumbled a bit, but remained calm. Apparently this thing was an ally to them, or had been at one point.

The beady eyes of the female monster flickered to Erik, and she began to chirp excitedly. When she appeared, Benhart had taken a step back in shock while Creighton snorted in surprise. Neither became hostile, but neither did they relax their guard as it rushed toward their culinary friend.

"You! You have many souls! So bright and strong! I could make amazing tools from them! Yes I could!"

"Um, hello? I am Erik Potts of Lindelt, ma'am. And you are?"

The crow-woman gasped before taking Erik's hands in her wings.

"Apologies for not introducing myself! I am Ornifex, Soulsmith of… well, I can't say, but it's a pleasure to meet you, Monarch Candidate!"

"Ah, you know who I am?" Erik said sheepishly and Ornifex nodded.

"Oh yes, how could I not? Your soul is so bright and shiny! Plus I see you carry some very old and powerful souls. What else could you be?"

"My lady, perhaps we should leave this place before speaking some more?" Rav'el suggested and Ornifex shrugged.

"Very well. Lead on!"

The group made their way out of the tunnels and back into the fresh air. They were met with much rejoicing when they did. The Basilisk menace was finally gone!

Tark even crawled out of his den despite being wounded and he bowed before the crow-woman in greeting.

"No need for formalities!" Ornifex said cheerfully.

"As you wish, Lady Ornifex," Tark said with a smile. "I'm glad to see you're back."

"Is your wife…?" Ornifex began, and Tark nodded sadly.

"Still broken and mad, I'm afraid. I have no choice but to…"

"Look, as touching as this reunion is, some of us have places to be," Creighton said, interrupting the tender moment. Glares were sent his way but he returned them in kind before facing the two demi-humans.

"We need to go to the Brightstone Cove. Are you going to help us get there or not?"

"Very well. We shall make preparations to remove Lady Najka from the entrance," Ornifex said stiffly, but Erik stepped up.

"Actually, I wish to try something."

~ ~ / / ~ ~

"I still do not believe this will work," Creighton grumbled, pushing a makeshift trolley up a slight incline towards a fog gate.

"If Sir Erik's cooking could heal my aunt, then I see no reason why it could not help these two poor souls," Benhart argued, helping move the loaded transport while Erik hovered nervously to the side.

It had been a shock to hear the plan Erik had come up with. Use his ancestor's magical cooking to heal the wife of Tark? But when Erik claimed he had undone the Chaos transformation on Queen Mytha, their tune changed.

Benhart had then shouted in surprise to hear his ancestor was still alive. And then Erik had been surprised that the stern and proud knight was related to the sultry woman he'd met at the Earthen Peaks. And then Creighton had asked that they stop getting surprised and get on with the explaining!

The plan was simple; cook a meal for Najka and hope it restored her body and mind.

The theme of the food: A wedding. So Erik had whipped up a small wedding cake. It was now on the hastily built trolley and Tark was accompanying them, just as nervous and eager as Erik to see this work. Just behind them the Lionkin and Ornifex watched in curiosity.

At the gate, they all took a deep breath and stepped through, letting the cold wash over them. Inside it was a sandy arena with the naked upper torso of a woman sticking out of the sand. Even in the grip of madness she was dazzlingly beautiful with her blue eyes and raven black hair. She looked up as the intruders appeared, but went stiff when she spotted Tark and the food. She tilted her head, confused, and the mad light in her eyes dimmed.

Erik cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union between Tark and Najka, who are to be joined in holy matrimony."

Tark had revealed that they had never had an official wedding, and it had been Najka's greatest desire while captive and experimented on, and even before then. But it had never come to pass. Capture, then mutation, then fleeing… never any time. Yet that was going to change.

"Does the groom have the ring?" Erik asked, and Tark stepped forward, holding out a blue and silver ring with a dragon design etched into it. At the sight of it Najka stirred and rose from the sand, revealing her body.

Pale blue shell like her husband, but with smaller claws and two long stingers, Najka was clearly deadly but her homicidal rage was dulled by the performance going on in front of her.

"Do you, Tark, take Najka to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Erik asked, slightly cringing inside as he took the role of priest. It was blasphemous, but for a good cause. The gods would forgive him for that, surely?

"I do," Tark whispered, scuttling forward. Najka too approached, unsure at first but with determined steps after a moment.

"And do you, Najka, take Tark to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"…I … do…" Najka croaked, her love overcoming her madness. Tark rushed to embrace her, and he slipped the ring onto her finger. The fog gate slowly fell away, allowing the audience to watch.

"Would you care for some cake?" Erik offered, gesturing to the trolley. Under the scorpion couple's watchful eyes the chef delicately cut the white frosting covered decadence, and held out a crude stone plate with a hefty slice on it to the wife.

She took it, gave it a confused look, before taking a bite. A long pause drew out as she chewed slowly, before swallowing and hastily shoveling the rest into her mouth.

Najka let out a deep sigh, before she blinked in surprise and a dreamy smile crossed her features. Then, she began to glow.

A ripple of golden spilled out and enveloped her entirely, before she suddenly turned to Erik and smiled.

"Thank you."

She then turned to Tark and gently cupped his face with her hands.

"I'm sorry." She drew him into a deep kiss, and the light grew brighter, only for her to suddenly begin to turn to motes of golden light, leaving behind the ring in the sand and a gold and red soul. Tark fell to his knees, clutching his head and whimpering.

"W-what?" Erik stammered, confused. He took a step forward before stopping.

"Why didn't it work? It-it was supposed to turn her back!" Erik grabbed a piece of the cake and tasted it. Everything was fine. Taste, texture, odd soul energy… He'd followed the Soul Cake recipe to the letter, same as with Mytha. Why hadn't it cured Najka?

Suddenly, the gold-red soul rushed towards the chef and touched him…

"Oh, who are you?" A handsome man riding a horse had appeared in her private glade. Well, it wasn't really hers, but she had found it, so it was her secret spot!

"I'm… Najka. Who are you?"

"I am… Tark. May I rest here for a bit?" The young woman with raven hair thought for a moment before nodding.

Swirls of gold and autumn leaves danced, and the seasons passed. The mysterious man had approached her time and again, and each visit was the high light of her days. The court was so stuffy, and all the nobles so boring! But this man… Tark was kind and sincere. He treated her well not because of her status but because he was a good man. But today was the moment of truth. She had to reveal the secret. It might cause him to hate her, but…

"My name isn't really Najka," she said slowly. "My full name is Alicia Dorom Trinday Najka, Crown Princess of Venn!"

"My name isn't really Tark!" He admitted in a rush. "My full name is Carlyle Dominik Valn Tark, Crown Prince of Alken!"

The two had blurted their secrets at the same time. At first there was an odd pause, then the two began to laugh, and then cry, and then embrace each other…

"Your highness, run! Alken is invading!"

"Impossible! Carlyle… no, he wouldn't…"

"WHERE IS THE WHORE WHO TURNED MY SON AGAINST ME?!"  
Pain pain pain loneliness pain. Trapped in a tower in the accursed Lost Bastille, separated from her lover… Only the strange magical bell and the funny dwarves that had one day appeared before her gave her any comfort. The chiming of a bell brought a rare smile to her lips.

Time blurred and melded, and a hallucination appeared before her. This one again? Stop it, it hurt…

"Alicia! I'm here! We have to go, now!"

"Carlyle? Is-is that really you? You're not a dream?"

"I promise I'm real! But we have to go now, the Gargoyles won't stay down for long!"

Freedom joy happiness joy joy love! After so long her beloved had come for her! Her Carlyle… now they could spend their lives together… A family together… children… if they had a daughter, her name would be…

"Surrender and you won't be harmed." Men in white robes surrounded Alicia and Carlyle, and to the side the skull masked warrior who had aided the prince of Alken lay dead. They trembled. There was no other choice…

A Dragon! It screamed at her, it yelled at her, it cursed her name and soul! She wasn't who it thought it was! She was not the Daughter of Izalith! She was not...

PAIN! More pain, only pain! That accursed duke, those two damned dukes… how dare they?! Carlyle… no, who was that? What was his name? He was in the cage next to hers, always holding her hands… Tark. That was his name, wasn't it? He smiled whenever she called him that… Then was her name Najka? That was what he called her… So she smiled.

No! Don't take her away! Don't take away her baby! She screamed and cried and fought but the damned man who reeked of Darkness and Fire and Dragons merely laughed as he took her child from her. How dare he?! How dare he?! Hadn't she suffered enough at his hands! It might have been a monster she had been forced to carry in her womb but it was hers none the less! Beside her Tark screamed his defiance and rage but was restrained by golden masked guards. It might not have been his, but she was his wife! They had made their vows! No! Don't take away her darling Shanalotte!

A knight in dripping red armor appeared, cutting apart the cages and the monsters within. Tark rushed to her side and tore away the bars of her prison with his claws… Wait, since when did he have those? He grabbed her hand. They ran. They ran. Away from the darkness. Away from the spiders. Away from the screams and the pleading. Away from Tseldora. Away from Aldia. Away from the Pale Drake who never stopped screaming at her… Away from her baby… Away from Shanalotte with her purple and brown eyes…

Erik collapsed to the floor, tears pouring from his eyes as the soul's memories faded from him. Beside him Tark was writhing on the ground, screaming and wailing, tears of his own dripping from his face.

Everyone was staring in shock at the display, unsure if they wanted to approach or not.

"Tark… Carlyle… your father loved you… he's so sorry…" Erik whimpered, the soul of the Old Iron King wailing in pain along with his long lost son.

"Why?! Why? It hurts so much! Why does it hurt so much?! Why do these images keep popping up! I want the pain to stop! Please, make it stop!" Tark begged, and Erik crawled through the dirt to approach the man-scorpion. He reached inside himself and the chef drew out two soul, both throbbing and pulsing with golden vibrancy.

The Monarch Candidate all but threw the souls at Tark, and they sunk into him, suffusing his flesh with a pale glow and his thrashing began to slow down and eventually stopped.

"I-I remember," Tark whispered as he came to a stop. "Everything is clear. I remember it all. Oh gods, why? Alicia… father… my darling baby girl…"

Two men cried together under the stars, uncaring about appearances or who was watching. They shared in utter pain, and were comforted by two souls.


	31. Chapter 31: Cave Story

_**Chapter 31: Cave Story**_

The hours after Najka was freed from her pain had been a whirlwind of activity. Uncomfortable revelations had come to light, such as what had happened in the dukedom. Vengarl had gnashed his teeth in disgust at what Tseldora had done, as well as disbelief at the involvement of Aldia, King Vendrick's brother. Had the king been in on it all as well? Had the Red Rust Knight been sent to die?

Tark had retreated back to his run down home all the while clutching the souls of his wife and father to his chest, but not before profusely thanking Erik for freeing Najka's soul. The man-scorpion swore to serve Erik in his mission, and to call on him should he need it. Erik had then been given a tiny shard of White Soapstone that had Tark's blood smeared over it. This way the chef could summon him wherever he was.

Now the Undead party was on its next step; making their way to the Brightstone Cove at long last. Rav'el was escorting them through the secret passage through the mountains while Ornifex was accompanying them as she was on a journey of her own to obtain Titanite for her profession. She had explained what she could do as giving a form to the soul, but was annoyingly vague about what that meant or how she did it.

"You're certain the Gyrm will allow us passage through into the Brightstone Cove?" Creighton asked yet again as Rav'el the Lionkin and Ornifex the crow-woman led the Undead trio through the dripping tunnel.

"As long as I am with you they will not attack," Ornifex proclaimed, a touch of exasperation in her voice. The soldier from Mirrah had continued to worry during the entire trip. His concern was partly nerves due to his soon to be confrontation with Pate the thief, but also because of his proximity to the abhumans. Unlike Erik who was fine with all manners of sentient life, Benhart who seemed fine with them as long as they didn't betray the Undead, and Vengarl who actually liked non-humans more than he appeared to appreciate humans, Creighton still clung to the old doctrine of Lindelt and the Gods; Hate the non-human.

"He's certainly a whiny little bitch," Vengarl groused, earning himself a smack from Erik. The severed head was still clipped to the chef's belt, and the muffled laughter from their new companions hadn't done much for his ego.

"Be nice Ven, or I'll put you in a sack," Erik chastised.

"Only my friends can call me that," the Undead head snarled, glaring up at the Lindelt native. Erik flinched at the venom in the legendary warrior's tone and nodded quickly.

"Are you alright, Sir Vengarl? You seem testier than usual," Benhart inquired cautiously.

"I can feel my body," the lion-helmed fighter hissed, wishing he had hands to massage his temples. "I can see what it does at times, and the closer I am to it, the more I feel the pull to be reunited. I could ignore the sensation when I was in the Shaded Woods but now that I am getting nearer to it the pull is getting annoying and harder to set aside."

"Don't worry, I promise you'll be whole again," Erik stated, patting the head companionably.

"The first thing I'm going to do when I have arms again is punch you," Vengarl swore, though there was a bit of humor in his words. Erik just laughed, and the tense mood was dispelled.

"Hold." Rav'el stopped suddenly in the mouth of the tunnel where it led into a cavern, raising a fist to stop the group. They jerked to a halt, and peered cautiously over his shoulder.

In front of them was a massive armored figure, carrying a shield and oversized great sword with a helmet reminiscent of an elephant's head. The bronze of the armor was tarnished with rust and age, and the figure stomped lazily around in circles in the center of the cavern.

"A Primal Knight!" Vengarl exclaimed, surprised to see this being before him.

"One of King Vendrick's famous armored golem soldiers," Benhart elaborated, seeing Erik and Creighton's nonplused stares.

"This was not here last time," Rav'el muttered, his words quickly translated by Vengarl.

"Then we should remove it. Perhaps that will give the Gyrm a better opinion of us?" Erik suggested to which Rav'el nodded.

"It should be destroyed regardless. It might wander towards the Pride, and we're too badly weakened to deal with it properly at the moment," the Lionkin chief noted.

"Allow me. I have not had a chance to show off my skills and prowess," Benhart all but pleaded, and Erik smiled and waved his hand towards the behemoth.

"Ha! On guard, foe! You face the Blue Moon Knight now!" With a battle cry on his lips the Jugonan native rushed towards the lumbering warrior and swung his massive blade at it. The glowing sword flashed blue and it sheared through the leg of the creature, toppling it.

Benhart parried the giant bronze sword of his opponent before driving his own large weapon into the helmet. A gush of souls was his reward and the armored being fell limp. He began to dismantle the oversized warrior, making sure that if it did revive somehow it wouldn't be in one piece.

"Seeing such an ancient soul-weapon in action was simply moving," Ornifex gushed, stroking her wings while her voice took on a disturbingly seductive tone as she observed the knight and his sword.

"Um, do you perhaps know what that weapon is?" Erik asked, and he successfully distracted the birdkin.

"It is an old weapon forged from a great white dragon. It has existed since the first generation of Gods," Ornifex simpered, and her words caused a ripple among the humans.

"Pardon, did you say 'first generation of Gods'?" Erik asked, and he felt his souls throb painfully. He had expected as such, but to actually hear it said was causing a reaction inside him.

"Oh. Oh, I wasn't supposed to say that," Ornifex's body language became tense and depressed and she looked around nervously. "Master is not going to be happy about this."

"What do you mean?" Erik pressed, and the crow-woman flinched back from his words. Even Rav'el seemed curious, though he was standing protectively in front of her none the less.

"I can't say! I can't say! I'm sorry, Monarch Candidate, but unless all the Lord Souls are gathered there are some secrets you cannot yet know!" Ornifex apologized.

"First Natalia and now this. Just one secret piles up after the other," Erik griped, walking past the crow-woman.

"Natalia? The Bride of Ash? You've met her?" Ornifex demanded, hopping in front of Erik.

"I have. Why does that matter?"

A smile tugged at the Birdkin's beak and she let out a sigh of relief.

"If you have met her than perhaps everything is still on track!" She grasped the chef's hands with her own feathery ones and leaned forward, a begging look in her beady eyes.

"Obtain all four of the Lord Souls, and I will personally introduce you to the person who has all the answers. I swear this on the name of my clan and profession!"

"Very well. I'll hold you to that promise," Erik said after a moment. "I don't like being in the dark about this, and if I have to I will find the answers if you cannot answer them."

"Of course! Now come! The Gyrm await!" Ornifex crowed, hurrying away towards a set of stairs past the spot where the Primal Knight had fallen.

Her path was blocked, however, by a massive axe flying out of nowhere and imbedding itself into the stone in front of her.

"Why have you brought these humans here, Lady Ornifex? You know they will just bring misery."

Half a dozen squat yet heavily armored figures appeared at the top of the stairs. They all wore equipment similar to Gavlan's, and Erik was reminded of the immense strength the merchant had possessed. He hoped they wouldn't have to fight through an entire village of these warriors.

"One of them is the Monarch Candidate, the rest are his companions," Ornifex explained while gesturing towards us with her wing. From the confused looks on Benhart and Creighton she and the Gyrm were speaking a different language. The chef's Ring of Whispers once more showed its worth!

"Why should I care about a single human, or the fate of their precious Fire?" The lead warrior sneered. His weapons and armor were identical to those of his companions save for an emblem on his chest. The distance was great, but it looked like a pair of fangs…

"If the First Flame goes out you know what will happen," Ornifex scolded, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And before that happens my Master would force you to step aside so the quest could be completed."

"The humans are dangerous. They should not be allowed to have the powers they do. Their gods are monsters and their heroes little more than butchers. Turn back now, or we shall oppose you."

"I see. I thought the crest you wore was a coincidence, but it seems you have sided with the Rat King," Ornifex sneered, folding her arm-wings. Rav'el tensed at that, leaving the Undead confused.

"Vengarl, do you know of a 'Rat King' by any chance?" Erik asked, whispered down to the head at his waist.

"No, but judging from the tone of things he's bad news," The red knight murmured.

"It was he who protected us against the predations of the Basilisks! It was he who aided us in our struggle against the foul lord of the Brightstone Cove! It was he who has been at our side as the Curse ravaged us and drove us even deeper into despair! Not your 'master,' not the Lionkin, and certainly not the humans!" The Gyrm roared, hefting the axe from the ground with one hand.

Benhart whistled at the display of strength while tensing, his hands on his own sword.

"The Rat King is a liar and a thief! Who was the one that caused Shulva to fall by revealing the secrets of the dragon to those mad cultists?! Who was it that brought the plague that killed millions and gave birth to the Rotten?! Who was it that betrayed the Oaths of Nito and brought ruin to his servants?!" Ornifex screeched.

"Kill them all!" The Gyrm leader roared, and with a cry his soldiers rushed forwards.

Rav'el jumped in front of the crow-woman, protecting her from a thrown axe while the Undead organized their forces to defend against the Gyrm.

Bolts of fire and shards of ice were hurled into the armored foes and sent them staggering back. Creighton's axe hewed through the joints, his blows calm and calculated. Benhart just severed limbs with every swing of his blade, the size and sharpness enough to carve through the Gyrm's defenses with no problems.

"Betrayers! Cowards!" Ornifex cried, spears of glittering sorcery impaling Gyrm with each shot.

"Move! Push up the stairs! We have to get out to the other side!" Rav'el shouted, and the Undead began to coordinate their efforts towards breaking apart the deadlock. With a quick application of Outcry Erik cleared the path and the group hurried up the stairs and ran down the halls. Behind them the shouts of the chasing Gyrm could be heard, but thankfully their pursuer's size and hefty equipment meant they were slowed down considerable.

"What the in the name of the Flames was that?" Erik gasped, leaning against an ugly statue trying to catch his breath.

"The Gyrm have betrayed their alliance with my master and sided with a cruel and evil being," Ornifex replied, panting lightly as well.

"The Rat King, correct? Who is he?" Erik asked. Ornifex tensed, but a glance at his rings remaindered her he could understand any words spoken.

"You would know him by a different name. Galib, the god of disease."

"One of the Forsaken Deities?" Erik gulped down his fear. His companions also looked concerned.

"Yes. In the early days of this Cycle he was a fearsome force, but also a being of healing and medicine. I know not the exact reasons, but he turned to spreading sickness so he could claim the credit of its cures. But his actions grew callous, and he disobeyed and broke several old covenants. In turn, he was cast down, his form broken and his forces shattered. Now he is naught but a hideous giant rat with barely a spark of godly might to his name," Ornifex revealed.

"Then, that symbol of two fangs that rude Gyrm wore… that was Galib's mark, correct?" Benhart mused.

"Gormus was always a hotheaded fool, but to actively join forces with a dark god… I must warn my people, lest he taken revenge on us," Rav'el pleaded and Erik nodded in agreement.

"I agree. It would do us no good to have our friends hurt by those madmen. But the way is blocked, and I doubt you can use the Bonfires to travel seeing as you are not an Undead…"

"When we escape the tunnels I will fly back to the Pride," Ornifex promised the Lionkin chief. "I cannot carry you with me, but in my stead escort the Monarch Candidate to the Cove."

"It will be done, lady Ornifex," Rav'el said with a bow.

The path through the damp caves and twisting paths was a tense one, as several times the group had to duck into cover to hide from passing Gyrm patrols. They managed to evade them, thankfully, and after hours of walking the group burst out into fresh air.

Their elation was cut short as they all gagged on the stench of rotting and burning flesh.

The Brightstone Cove may once have been beautiful, but now it lay in ruins. Camps filled with Hollowed miners and peasants littered the area, and even now chain-gangs of Undead toiled away, mindlessly mining the Titanite from the area. Trees had been cut down and only stumps remained, while gaping pits full of junk ore and scrap and even corpses had been tossed. Greasy smoke from vast pyres dotted the landscape, reminding Erik of the Huntsman's Copse, and he shivered involuntarily.

However, a few dots of beauty still clung desperately. Large glittering pillars of Twinkling Titanite dotted the landscape, large holes dug around them in efforts to extract them. Rare Altered Titantite lay in heaps or in crates and wagons, never to be taken away, only added to by the ceaseless workers.

"Go down the path and follow the ledge to reach the main part of the city. What you seek should be below the Duke's manor," Ornifex said, flapping her wings. "Do not worry! As soon as I have warned the Pride I shall return! Until then, Bearer of the Curse!"

In a flurry of black feathers the crow-woman shot into the sky, elegantly darting through ugly clouds to soar over the mountain peaks.

"We should not waste any time. The Gyrm may chase after us if we linger," Rav'el cautioned, and Erik nodded.

"Lead the way."


	32. Chapter 32:Spiders and broken spears

_**Chapter 32: Spiders and a broken Spear**_

"Close the door, close the door, close the door!" With a resounding 'slam!' ancient and heavy doors crashed shut, blocking off a legion of hideous giant spider-like creatures.

Everyone sighed happily at escaping the swarm. The trip towards the Cove had been… interesting.

First had been the Undead. They were weak yet numerous, ranging from mere Hollowed peasants to trained guards. None were a true threat though at this point. The worst were hideous Hollowed pigs that chased them and took too many blows to kill. Erik had seen Undead piglets back at Majula and found their adult forms just as revolting.

That hadn't been the worst. Massive spider monsters crawled out of holes in the mine and attacked the group as they passed by, and these had crippling poison lurking in their fangs. Erik's Pyromancy cleared them out, but there were lots of them, and it was a moment of pure terror as the Undead and sole Lionkin fled into a small chapel.

That had led to encountering a fog gate guarded by an Undead Cleric and Sorcerer and a host of Hollowed praying peasants. They had not been too much of a challenge, as Benhart had cut the Sorcerer in half with a single blow, Erik's flames burned away the horde, and the Cleric was dealt with by Creighton.

But, as soon as they finished off the Undead Congregation, the giant spiders had burst through the floor and ceiling and some panicked screaming later the group fled and sealed off the chapel, leading to the current situation of adrenaline draining.

"What is wrong with Drangleic?" Erik whimpered. "Giant Basilisks, giant rats, and now giant spiders? What's next, giant cats?"

Vengarl's head coughed awkwardly but chose not to answer the chef's question. The poor lad might learn soon enough.

"At least we made it to the city proper," Benhart offered, seeing the silver lining in everything.

"Joy and jubilations, let us rejoice," Creighton snarked. But there was a spark of eagerness in his eyes and his heart was not into the teasing.

"I know there's bad blood between you and Pate, but try and listen to his side of the story? Or not attack first?" Erik pleaded. Creighton just shook his head.

"You've told me he helped you, and I find that hard to believe unless there was an ulterior motive. That bastard stole from me something precious and betrayed my trust. I will not forgive him."

Erik sighed but nodded. At least death was not that much of an issue here in Drangleic. Letting his comrade vent his rage would be for the best.

"Fine. But before we go any further, let us have some food. All that running in terror has given me an appetite." The chef led the group to a small Bonfire and began to stir up a large serving of stew for everyone.

"Smells good. What is it?" Benhart asked, sitting down on a boulder.

"Basilisk meat with honey in a milk porridge," Erik explained as he cooked. "The honey makes the tough, stringy flesh tender while the milk softens the acidic flavors of the fat and gives a thickness to the stew. Add a pinch of basil for taste and you've got a hearty meal."

"Oh my! Smells and sounds wonderful!"

Everyone jumped at the voice that had appeared, and the group whirled around to face a Cleric in black robes.

"A Pardoner," Erik mumbled, and the man bowed politely.

"I am indeed! Cromwell, at your service! Such a pleasure to find the faithful in this forsaken place," the holy man replied, giving the Lionkin a curious look before turning back to Erik.

Apologies for startling you, but I smelled your meal and I couldn't help but approach. I also noticed you managed to give peace to my companions back at the chapel. Here, allow me to thank you with this."

The black robed priest handed Erik a ring that had an interesting macabre design.

"A Ring of Resistance will help you resist the effects of poison, bleeding, and petrification. As you seem set on going further I would recommend that," Cromwell said cheerfully. Erik nodded in thanks, though the chef could tell that this ring was weaker than the one passed down in his own family. Still, bling was bling and he slipped it on to a free finger for better aide against status effects.

"What are you doing in this place?" Creighton demanded, keeping a suspicious eye on the man.

"I was waiting for a companion, but I fear she is late. I do hope those Basilisks haven't harmed her… Have you by any chance seen a crow-headed woman by the name of Ornifex?"

"You know Lady Ornifex?" Rav'el asked, surprised.

"Of course. The Children of the Crow have been allies of the Order of the Pardoners for countless centuries. Alongside her people and the Master we deliver judgement on heretics and watch over the First Flame and those whose destiny is to save it."

"Erik?" Benhart inquired, and Erik shrugged uncomfortably.

"The Pardoners are a mysterious group. Officially they are a part of the Church of the Pantheon and obey the will of the Pontifex. However the Pardoners have their own internal structure, secrets, and leaders. They listen to the Cardinals, but only obey if it suits their purpose. Very little is known of them, save that they deal in matters of sin and justice," the Lindelt chef explained.

"Correct, young man. But let me just say I mean you no harm. As the Monarch Candidate, it is my duty to assist you should you need any help," Cromwell stated.

"Fine. I suppose you'd like a bowl as well?" Erik sighed, offering the hungry Cleric a helping of stew.

"So, is there anything you can tell us about this place? Perhaps what we can encounter below?" Vengarl asked, miffed he couldn't eat anything. He could talk, but food just slipped through the hole in his neck. It was cruel punishment, he cried!

"Basilisks here and there, a few Hollows, more giant spiders, and some mutated folk," Cromwell said offhandedly as he shoveled food into his mouth. "The latter are the escape experiments of Duke Tseldora. Thankfully they've remained within the Cove, but they are to be wary of. Each one was tainted by the Blight and further twisted by dark magic."

"What is your purpose here?" Benhart inquired, taking a moment to wash down his food with some water from the canteen.

"I was to accompany Lady Ornifex and retrieve some Demon Titanite from the depths of the Cove. She needs the rare substance for her work, and it requires a delicate touch to extract. I was nominated to guard her. But it seems I have longer to wait," Cromwell sighed.

"Demon Titanite?" Erik blinked in surprise. It sounded sinister. Chloanne would like that.

"Titanite that has been infused with the power of Chaos. It can be used to create extremely potent weapons," Cromwell said. "Just like Twinkling Titanite which is made by infusing Humanity and souls into regular Titanite, Demon Titanite only forms under certain conditions. The Brightstone Cove is the only place Twinkling and Demon Titanite can be harvested naturally, and only once every few centuries."

"Why is that?" Erik asked. Cromwell looked to the sides and the people around him, before shrugging and leaning in.

"You didn't hear this from me if anyone asks, but the Brightstone Cove used to be where one of the last Ancient Dragons dwelled. After he was slain by a hero chosen by the First Flame its remains were petrified below the earth and from the corpse Titanite grows as its power seeps in the soil and stone around it," Cromwell uttered in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Wait, a dragon?" Erik demanded, the oldest of his gathered souls throbbing painfully. A name crossed the threshold of his mind, but he couldn't catch it. It began with an 'S' though.

"Yes. But be cautious. That dragon is the source of the madness that infected Tseldora. He excavated a portion of it and used it for his experiments. Be very wary down there. The dragon may be dead, but its soul lives on."

Sufficiently disturbed, the Undead and Lionkin finished their meal before packing up and descending into the city. Cromwell gave them so directions though about where to go and what to avoid. He also mentioned seeing a skinny man with a spear sneaking around one of the housing blocks. That caused Creighton to become excited.

The Cove was even worse than they'd first expected though. Great lumps of sand were everywhere, burying entire swathes of the city. Only a few of the buildings close to the center of the city and the manor stood tall and proud, but time had taken its toll on even them, and they lay crumbling to pieces. And Hollows and monsters swarmed across the ruins.

Mutated humans clashed with Basilisks and giant spiders, while Hollowed Clerics and Sorcerers showered anything that moved with bolts of energy. A mere handful of Hollowed peasants and guards could be seen but they were all on the outskirts, forever mining and oblivious to the world beyond their task.

The path to the duke's estate was blocked in some places, the only clear path through a street infested with conflict.

"What do we do?" Benhart asked, turning to Erik. The chef had shown his ingenuity time and again, and the knight of Jugo had respect for the Undead. Erik pursed his lips as he surveyed the city below.

"We can't fight through them all," Erik mused, stating the obvious. "We could avoid some of them though if we sneak through the buildings."

"Would that work?"

"It should. The structures closest to us seem fairly close. We could knock a few holes in the walls and sneak around that way," Erik offered to Creighton's question.

"The sound alone would attract Hollows and monsters. How do we deal with those? I doubt we could hold off all of them ourselves even with a well-fortified position," Vengarl pointed out and Erik bit his lip.

"Times like these I wish we had a sorcerer with us. He could use Muffle to hide our noise," Erik grumbled. "We will just have to take our chances. We'll move swiftly, silently, and…"

"PATE!"

"Or we could shout out names, that works too," Erik sighed, turning to see Creighton sliding down a rope towards a figure that was darting off into one of the houses across the way.

"Let's go, I don't want to see our friend do something stupid," Erik declared, using the rope like Creighton had. Sadly the chef was too heavy, what with the large box and all, and the rope snapped, sending Erik smack into the wall on the opposite side.

"Are you alright?" Benhart shouted.

"By nobe ib bropen," Erik grunted, snorting and spitting bloody phlegm into the sands below.

"Climb kid, climb!" Erik looked down to see what Vengarl was shouting about and saw a number of spiders gathering below clacking their mandibles in hunger.

"Ship, ship, ship!" Faster than he'd thought possible Erik scurried up the remains of the rope and got to the other side, taking a swig of estus at the top and restoring his busted face.

"Go and get Creighton, Erik! We'll find my way across!" Benhart shouted from his side, Rav'el drawing his axe and Benhart hefting his sword as some of the monsters decided the knight and Lionkin looked tastier than the scrawny cook.

"Creighton?!" Erik shouted, running through the houses and buildings and discarded streets. "Where are you?!"

No one answered him, but the clash of metal on metal rose out of the corner of his ear.

"Damn it," Erik swore, chasing the sound. He found the source soon enough.

Pate and Creighton were fighting each other, the former using his spear and shield in a defensive stance while the latter flailed madly with his axe at his opponent.

"Give it back!" Creighton screamed, smashing his two handed axed onto the sturdy shield.

"Step off, you maniac!" Pate snarled, jabbing his spear into the Mirriahian's leg. The wound barely slowed Creighton down as he just kept coming forward.

"Give it back!"

"You're insane!" Pate hissed, fear trickling into his expression.

"Give me back my wife's wedding ring!"

"It's mine now! I stole it fair and square!" Pate screamed in a distinctly not mild manner. He twisted his head slightly and spotted Erik standing befuddled in the doorframe.

"Oh! It's you! Help me, this madman attacked out of nowhere!"

"Creighton, stand down!"

Something flickered in the depths of his eyes and He stepped back slightly before fury reasserted itself and he raised his axe once more.

"Stop!" Erik shouted, drawing his sword and intercepting the blow. "This wasn't what we agreed on!"

"He stole her from me! Give her back to me!" Creighton screamed, completely blind to Erik as he shoved the chef away.

Erik hit the wall hard and tumbled into a rotting bookcase, splinters showering him as he felt something wet trickle down the back of his head.

Creighton suddenly froze, staring into nothing before shakily facing Erik.

"I'm not a murderer…" He whispered, dropping his axe onto the floor. "I'm not. It was an accident… I didn't mean to hurt her…"

"Ha!" Pate lunged, driving his spear through Creighton's heart, but his joy fled when he saw the warrior from Mirrah just standing there, dazed.

"She slipped! She slipped! I didn't mean to push her!" Creighton was starting to shake, and he tore off his helmet and fell to his knees, yanking Pate's spear out of his hands.

"Not my fault… didn't have to hang for that… not my fault…"

"Creighton? Are you alright?" Erik asked, voice trembling slightly.

"I think he's going Hollow, kid," Vengarl claimed. A scream was the reply, and Creighton rose from the floor, tearing the spear out of his chest, and snapping the haft like a twig.

"Not my fault!" Creighton howled, shoving the broken spear point into Pate's throat. A surprised gurgle was all the thief managed before he fell to the ground, life leaving his eyes.

With a demented giggle Creighton dove down onto the fallen man and began to tear his armor and clothes off, trying to find his ring. At last he found it, in the thief's pocket along with a key and several other small trinkets. He clutched the small band to his chest and whimpered and cooed to it.

"Why isn't Pate vanishing?"

Vengarl's question caused Erik to blink and Creighton to freeze. That was a good question. In Drangelic as long as you weren't Hollow an Undead would be sucked back into the nearest Bonfire and restored before being spat out good as new. It was almost instantaneous, and there was rarely any time to loot the body.

"No… not my fault…" Creighton reached out with trembling hands and began to strip the rest of Pate's clothes off, checking over his body for the Darksign. It should have been there. It had to be there!

"He wasn't an Undead…" Erik gasped. Vengarl whistled in surprise. It took balls the size of a house to want to willingly come to Drangleic, and only someone with castle sized kahunas would do so while not being an Undead. Yet the evidence was clear. Pate had been an ordinary human!

"Not… my… fault… she slipped…" Creighton mumbled, staring in shock at the dead body before him. He started to shake the corpse's shoulders.

"Wake up. Wake up. It wasn't my fault. She slipped…"

"He gone." Erik looked sharply at Vengarl's head and the knight grimaced.

"The Mirriahian. His mind has snapped. He's gone Hollow. Look."

Before Erik's eyes rot and decay began to spread across the Undead's face, years of decomposition happening in seconds.

"Going Hollow makes all the time you cheated catch up to you," Vengarl explained softly. "That is what the Darksign offers. Suffering and madness."

Erik stood shakily, wary of attracting Creighton's attention. But the soldier was focused entirely on Pate's body, just shaking him, trying to wake him up.

"Kill him. Put the poor bastard out of his misery," Vengarl instructed, and Erik swallowed a lump in his throat.

"I can't."

"You have to! He is Hollowed now, he has to die or he will come after you next!"

"He was a friend…"

"You knew him for less than a week! Kill him now! This is mercy!"

"But…"

"KILL HIM!"

Vengarl's shout caught Creighton's attention, and the man looked up with dead, empty eyes. He let out a moan and started to stagger to his feet, hands reaching instinctively for his axe.

"NOW!"

"Argh!" Steel flashed, blood spurted.

"Erik! There you are!" Benhart said happily, waving the chef over. Benhart and Rav'el were standing in a small alleyway that had a path that led close to the manor. It looked like a back entrance. Erik had appeared from some buildings across the way and hopped down a few feet to reach his remaining companions.

The knight stood knee deep in a pile of corpses, mostly spiders but a few mutated humans were there as well. Rav'el stood nearby, his own axe sticky with ichor, and his nose wrinkled a bit in concern.

"I smell blood. Are you wounded?" The Lionkin growled out.

"I'm fine. Just a bump on my head," Erik said, smiling weakly.

"Is everything alright? I don't see Creighton," Benhart asked, concerned.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Erik…"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

Silence fell among the group as Erik panted sharply, his rage making him tense. Only then did Benhart and Rav'el notice the unsheathed long sword in the chef's grip, the edges smeared black with Undead blood.

"Let's go. We have a soul to collect." Erik turned and stalked off down towards the rear entrance of the manor, and after sharing a look between them the warriors hurried after the cook.


	33. Chapter 33: Spider and Dragon

_**Chapter 33: Spider**_

The estate of Duke Tseldora was expansive, and completely overrun with monstrous spiders and mutant Hollows. At the rear entrance to the mansion a Red Phantom actually appeared, but it was only a peasant armed with a pickaxe who confronted them and was easily dealt with.

In fact it was Erik who cut down the Invader. He didn't use his Pyromancy and instead vanquished the Red Phantom with his Heide Long Sword. There was something cold in the chef's expression now, and it worried Benhart.

The chef should have been smiling, he should have been joking. Instead there was silence and a grimace on the young man's lips.

No attempts to ask what had happened worked. Vengarl wasn't talking either, so in the end the knight and Rav'el stepped back and gave Erik some space. Not too much, as there was still a whole monster infested manor to go through, but still.

The two figured it was probably some issue that was born from Creighton though. His lack of presence, the blood, and Erik's despondent features spoke loudly.

"The duke's private quarters were at the very bottom of the mansion. That's where he kept all of his experiment and where I was beheaded," Vengarl spoke, leading the group through the halls.

"Any traps?"

"Just the experiments themselves. His sick mind created a lot of abominations that were harder to slay than one might expect," Vengarl replied to Benhart.

"I feel it."

"Pardon?" Everyone turned to look at Erik, who was staring at a door in concentration.

"I can feel the soul I need. It was vague at first, like it was moving around, but now it's settled down. We have to keep going."

Several doors and floors later, and the party emerged into a basement completely covered in thick, sticky webs.

"A hundred souls that the keeper of the soul is a spider of some sort," Benhart chuckled halfheartedly. That got a snort from Erik who shook his head.

"No bet."

As the group traveled downwards, they ran into a large number of cages and abandoned rooms filled with tools that looked fit for a torture chamber. The reek of Chaos and the Blight lingered, but so too did a Darker, more heady trace of power that made the Undead gag. Rav'el seemed to be unaffected, so perhaps it was related to the Darksign?

At any rate the reduced fellowship reached the final floor after dealing with a tiny host of giant spiders.

"Here we are. Beyond this gate lies a monster that will try and kill us," Erik sighed, staring at the fog gate at the very lowest level. He slipped off his Bottomless Box and set it against the wall nearby before adjusting his grip on the sword.

"Shall we?" Benhart offered, and Erik nodded before stepping through.

When the chef entered the underground chamber he felt no sudden pulse of bloodlust nor sensed any foes. Rather, there was a dull roaring and screaming at the edges of his hearing that grew louder as he focused on what seemed to be the source.

Erik gulped, and felt the souls within him become active.

Before him was a dragon. It was petrified from eons beneath the earth, yet it still possessed an overwhelming power that called out.

"Oh my," Benhart muttered in awe as he stepped through. Vengarl humphed in agreement. Rav'el was the only figure not to be entranced but the ancient being.

"Above!" He cried, hefting his battleaxe.

Looking up, Erik's spirit plummeted. A massive spider hung from the ceiling, watching them with beady red eyes. With a cackle it began to unfurl itself before plopping down from the roof, a wave of bloodlust slamming into the intruders. Dozens of giant spiders crawled down the walls to join their primogenitor, and Erik could see that this monster before him had two head.

"Scatter!" Erik cried, dashing to the side. His companions did so as well, Benhart rushing to the front and slamming his sword onto the carapace of the monster. However, to everyone's shock the blow just bounced off, the rebound sending the knight staggering backward. A swipe from the monster's talons hurled Benhart into the wall where spiders began to swarm.

"Shit! Eat fire!" Erik shouted, tossing a Fireball at the side of the gargantuan spider. The Pyromancy never reached. Instead, it fizzled out before it even touched the shell of the monster, and for a moment the chef felt an oppressive aura crashing onto his shoulders. His Fire Seed recoiled, and so did his souls.

"My Pyromancy isn't working!" Erik began to panic. It was his best offense, his most versatile tool! Fire and Ice could deal massive damage to pretty much anything, but something in the chamber was suppressing it!

He glanced at the petrified dragon and felt a smug sneer get projected at him. Damn this thing!

"Undead! We have to pull back!" Rav'el cried, being cornered by some of the lesser monster spiders. Erik snarled and stabbed one of them before rushing to help the Lionkin.

"We can't! The fog gate is one way only! We have to kill this thing or else!" Erik explained, slicing at the spiders. Meanwhile Benhart had managed to get to his feet and was distracting the two-headed spider. Yet for some reason his sword was glowing brighter and brighter with every swing.

"That's it!" Erik exclaimed. "Benhart, your sword! It was made from a dragon according to Ornifex! It must be reacting to this one here!"

"Wonderful! How does that help?!" the knight from Jugo cried while being shoved back with a smack.

"Get closer to the dragon! Maybe something will happen that will give us an edge!"

"Fine! But you have to keep it off my back!"

"Deal!" Erik ran at the monster, slashing his blade along its legs. There was barely even a scratch on the armored limbs, though the chef had successfully attracted the attentions of the massive spider. With a screech it lunged, trying to bite Erik in half, but the cook was nimble and dodged the snapping jaws. He managed to score a hit against one of the eyes, blinding it with his sword jabbed through the socket.

That just made it angry, and it opened its deformed mouth. Something bright began to glow inside, and only Vengarl's shouts along with Drangleic gained instincts kept Erik from being blown apart by a ravening beam of energy.

"Holy shit! What kind of madman gives his giant spider laser breath?!" Erik screamed, running to the side of the monster.

"The same madman who would give it an impenetrable carapace!" Vengarl retorted.

"Boy, lead the monster over here!" Erik looked around for the source of Rav'el's voice, and gaped when he saw the Lionkin clinging to a stalactite on the ceiling. The chef quickly saw what his comrade planned through and ran towards it, the spider blinding chasing him.

That was its first mistake. With a sound of grinding stone the Lionkin smashed the giant pillar of earth and rode it down onto the spider's back, the blow pinning it down and the spike of stone piercing the previously untouchable hide.

"Yes! Take that you bastard!" Erik cried, only to scream like a woman and throw himself to the side as another energy beam cut through where he had been standing.

"Die!" Rav'el cried, bringing his axe down on the monster and widening the damage already done.

The two-headed spider's second mistake was forgetting about Benhart.

"Out of the way!" the Undead and the Lionkin took one look at the knight and hightailed it away from the spider.

Confused, the impaled monster could only stagger around drunkenly trying to see what the fuss was. When it did manage to glimpse the reason, its eyes widened comically.

Benhart was running at the spider, sword held high. As for his ancient weapon, the blue glow that surrounded it was pulsing brighter than ever, and a trail of azure flames billowed out from behind.

With a wordless scream of martial pride, Benhart swung his blade down upon the head of the monster. All at once every drop of power that had been accumulated inside the great sword was unleashed explosively, and the monstrous spider was torn clean in half by the attack. With a groan the body began to dissolve into a flurry of souls and black ichor, and the death of their master caused the smaller spiders to scatter in panic.

A giant soul appeared inside the carcass and it rushed over to Erik, who accepted the chaos red soul.

Freyja. A name. Freyja. A love. Freyja. A purpose. Master loved me. Fed me. Gave me things. How nice, how nice! The screams did not matter. So what if animals cry? I was special. He made me. He made me. I serve him. I serve Tseldora. Mother would be so proud. She was disgusted with me. But I ate her. Tasty. Humans taste so good. Tseldora loved me. Fed me. How odd that I was once human like him.

The hot burning stink of rotten fire was a common smell around the experiments. They tasted spicy.

The cloying sweetness of the creeping shadows were rarer treats to taste, but I enjoyed them plenty. They tasted like they looked. Blue.

The tingle of souls as they filled me was so much fun! Tseldora lets me do all sorts of things. As long as I don't hurt the ones in the cage I can play all I want!

Why is that tiny red man trying to break the cages? The human that reeks of blood and rust is making a mess of master's laboratory! Go away! I won't let you hurt Master Tseldora!

The Dragon-Shadow-Fire-Not-Human my beloved Tseldora called 'Aldia' came again. Apparently something went wrong? The throne isn't working? I don't understand their discussion. Oh, it seems Aldia wanted to use the Primal Bonfire for something.

I haven't seen master in a while. He's probably still sad about all the experiments running away. I know! I'll bring them back! Come my children! Fetch master's lost toys!

Master master master master do you still love Freyja?

"Urk!" Erik gagged as the strange, alien thoughts of the spider's soul filled him.

"Impressive. I've never seen anyone absorb souls like that. A trait of your status as Candidate?" Benhart asked, resting his restored blade on his shoulder while Rav'el cautiously approached. "I saw you do the same with Lady Najka, but couldn't bring myself to ask at that point."

"Seems so," Erik agreed, eyeing the blue sword. "It looks like my idea worked."

"Certainly did! A strange soul emerged from the dragon's corpse and flew into my family's sword. It seems to have restored it to full. Here, have a gander!" Benhart said proudly, and Erik smiled before touching the flat of the blue blade.

His souls began to hum and scream and roar. The Old Witch's soul mocked the creature for its failures and madness, the Old King's soul grieved at the loss of a friend and fellow conspirator. And the dragon screamed back. A golden-white soul manifested in front of Erik from the sword, and it shot into him without warning.

 _This was not the first time. Or the second. Or third. Countless cycles had come and gone, yet one thing remained constant. Him._

 _He was the Dragon of the Forest, guardian of the peaceful land of Verdite. He was there when it all began, when the vile, hideous cycles started. For he was Seathe the White Dragon God, born from the soul of the world itself. He emerged from the depths of the woods, wielding a sword forged from the soul of the moon itself; the Moonlight Sword. Massive and radiating divine energy, it was the only weapon that could halt the spread of the Depravity caused by his dark other half, Gurya the Black Dragon God. Yet he was fooled. Gurya had tainted the Moonlight Sword ages ago in secret with his own essence, and in using it to slay the Black Dragon of Depravity unleashed a terrible curse. A curse of reincarnation. Never would the two dragons be free of each other. Forever would they live and be reborn to do battle with each other!_

 _Over and over the two Dragon Gods fought, taking different forms and reincarnating. Verdite fell, and new lands rose. Their conflict spanned the world and sundered kingdoms and continents. In one battle, in the newly founded kingdom of Boleteria, Seathe thought he had finally won. But the Black Dragon escaped, and fled underground. There, at the source of all Life and Magic in the world, the Nexus, his Archenemy found something._

 _A being from beyond the moon and stars, an Old One who could sing the song of immortality so desired by the Black Dragon. Gurya tried to usurp this power, but the Old One was simply too powerful, even if it was in a death-like state. So the Dragon God of Darkness fell at last, not to his brother, but to something that hadn't even been aware it had vanquished a lesser being._

 _But that was not the end. The Old One stirred, it's 'fight' having stimulated what passed for a soul and mind, and when a foolish king dug too deep, it decided to awaken and see what all the fuss was about._

 _Boletaria fell. The Old One's might revived Gurya for but a brief moment, but as a demonic thing. Seathe, weary from the wars, had one final chance to stop everything. To end the infinite cycles he had found himself trapped within. All he had to do was take the tool that had started this whole mess, the Moonlight Sword, and end the Child from Beyond the Moon with it. But he failed._

 _The Maiden in Black, a sliver of Gurya's essence, tricked a champion to do it for her. Her plan, to seal the Old One and steal its power, failed. It had expended too much energy trying to wake up, and ancient wounds combined with the essence stolen by the foolhardy king finally laid it low. A corpse was sealed, rather than a living being._

 _Chaos reigned. The Old One, the Child from Beyond the Moon, had been a source of power for the world. It had been what had gifted souls to the world, the origin of life. Without it, humans and all creatures twisted, withered, and perished. They became weak, worthless beings, doomed to a grey world._

 _New creatures, which subsisted on these hollow husks, rose. In time, the Old Stone Dragons, elder beings which had ruled in a time lost to memory, returned, sensing the fight between their parents Seathe and Gurya finally complete. They reigned as gods over the bleak, twilight world._

 _For Seathe, this time was one of peace. The cycle was seemingly broken, his ancient foe laid to rest. So what if the world and its inhabitants were suffering? The curse was finally lifted!_

 _But though he perished, Gurya was a fundamental force of reality. A seed was born in the Old One's corpse and using it, which was separate from the Old One's machinations, ignited the remains. The Corpse burned. It became a fire. The First Flame in fathomless years._

 _So it was that the cycle began anew, but draped in fire and Light instead of shadows. Gods were born in the flames, obtaining souls that were altered from being so close to the origin of life. The whole world was now stained by the curse of reincarnation._

 _Seathe, then known as the Scaleless, chose to side with the new gods and the First Flame over the dragons and the dull empty twilight peace. Though the cycle was wretched, he understood that without it Gurya would always continue to exist. His brother had trapped the world in a never ending loop, and if the First Flame went out, his old foe would rise once more. Better that the White Dragon control how the cycles operated than letting chance and idiots handle everything._

 _Yet he never gave up hope for a way to escape the misery of the cycles. The Failed Pale Dragon experimented constantly. Was there a way to escape the endless Cycle of Reincarnations and Karma? Must find an escape before the Old Ones return. The death cry of their sibling echoes through the stars. They hunger. They crave…There had to be an escape! There had to be. Had to be…_

Erik screamed, loudly and in soul searing pain. Memories of a billion years rushed into him, filling his mind to bursting before wrapping around the newly obtained soul nestled beside the Old King and the Old Witch. Only Death remained unclaimed by Erik.

"By the gods, are you alright?!" Benhart cried, dropping his sword to the ground as Erik began to twitch and writhe. Rav'el rushed over as well, worried.

"The memories… the truth… I saw it all…" Erik whimpered, clutching his head.

"Estus! Now!" Vengarl commanded, and the knight of Jugo hastened to obey, pouring the contents of the glass bottle down onto Erik. Some of it managed to get into his mouth and the taste reflexively caused him to swallow. Soon, his spasms stilled and he lay panting.

"What happened?"

"I-I don't know," Erik admitted. "The soul of the dragon leapt from your sword into me, and I saw things. I saw… I can't remember. Everything is getting foggy when I try and recall it. There was a curse, though. Endless cycles. And a fire born from a god from beyond the stars…"

"Damn. Alright, let's go and find some place to rest for a bit," Benhart sighed, tossing Erik over one shoulder and carrying him to a room adjacent to the chamber. Not the one they'd come from, but another one that led deeper into the place.

What they found surprised them. A lavish room, filled with books and magical apparatus designed for arcane purposes. All of it somehow perfectly immaculate and free of dust or decay. A large desk covered in notes was in the middle, and in the center, looming over the desk, was a hunched and withered figure in fabulous robes.

"Duke Tseldora!" Vengarl hissed, and the man turned, alerted by the use of their name. A Hollow was what stared at them, dull eyes confused.

Rav'el stepped forward and contemptuously cut the noble in half. He didn't even put up a fight!

"That was… anti-climactic," Vengarl admitted. "I've been hoping for the day I could find him again, yet to see he was already broken just saps my fighting spirit."

"We still have your body to restore, Ven," Erik said softly, his head still throbbing with residual pain.

"True. I can feel the pull down that side tunnel. The rest of me is guarding some sort of Bonfire."

"Alright. Here's the plan…" Erik began weakly, and he explained the details to his comrades.

"Hey Vengarl's body! Catch!"

A giant headless human in tarnished red armor looked over in surprise from where it stood staring deeply into the Primal Bonfire. A small red object was being tossed at it. The thing felt… familiar. It reached out to slice it apart with its cleaver-like sword, but something glowed from within the head and a flash of golden light filled the room.

"I cannot believe that worked!" Benhart cried, surprised but happy none the less.

"I know, right? I feel like this shouldn't have happened," Vengarl mused, cracking his neck as he felt where he had fused back to his body. Erik just grunted and rolled his eyes.

The chef's plan had been simple. Make Vengarl's head drink a bit of estus, holding it in his mouth rather than swallowing it, and then throw the sucker at his body! The estus would react, and hopefully the bond between body and head would be recognized as a 'wound' and thus the liquid flames would reach out and restore the body.

That it had worked was a surprise. Honestly the others had just gone along with Erik's plan because they were tired and had no other ideas at the moment.

"Can you put me down? Thanks," Erik said happily. "Let's grab this thing and return to Majula!"

"I am not an Undead. I do not think I can travel with you," Rav'el said slowly.

"Maybe not through regular bonfires, but this is one of the originals! Try it out!" Erik said happily. His mood had steadily improved. Three consecutive successes had helped the chef put the incident with Creighton at the back of his mind for now. He had a feeling it would return full force sooner or later, but he could deal with it then.

With a smile on his face, Erik reached out for the hilt of the Bonfire…

And was sent hurtling into the wall by a wave of force that billowed out of the ancient flames.

The rest of his companions were knocked back as well, and everyone's eyes widened as they saw something black and twisted ooze out of the flames.

Like a mass of fire blackened roots, the thing was a vile, hungry force that had Darkness pouring off of it like mist. Shapes like bodies could be seen twisted and wrapped around, but also fused and broken and melded. Two 'eyes' of purest red stared out and sneered down at the Undead it had appeared before.

 **"** **No one has come this far for a very long while."** The voice was loud and yet a whisper, with a burbling quality to it that made everyone who heard it sick to their stomach.

 **"** **Young hollow do you wish to shed this curse? Then accept the fate of your ilk and face the trials that await you. Unless, you have joined the crestfallen."** A twisted laugh emerged from the monstrous form before them.

"What are you?" Erik gasped, fear forcing his body immobile. His souls were trembling, as if they knew what this thing was but could not quite recall…

 **"** **I am salvation, young Hollow. I am the key to obtaining freedom from the wretched curse,"** the entity said, grinning and chortling and oozing.

 **"** **There are but two paths. Inherit the order of this world, or destroy it.** **But only a true monarch can make such a choice. Very few indeed have come even this far. And yet your journey is far from over. Half-grown hollow, have you what it takes, truly?"**

"Aldia!" Everyone's heads snapped towards Vengarl who had shouted. "I remember that voice! Is that truly you, Duke Aldia?!"

At that, the souls inside Erik screamed. Vengeance and justice! Vengeance and justice! Do not let this being escape! It must be punished!

"You bastard!" Erik screamed, his rage overpowering his fear. He leapt to his feet and snarled at the figure emerging from the bonfire.

 **"** **Hmph, it seems you are not quite worthy of my guidance. But fear not. In time, you will be ready,"** Aldia said with a sigh before starting to sink into the fires.

"Oh no you don't!" Erik shouted, reaching out towards the writhing mass of roots and darkness that had emerged from the flame. He tried to grab the deformed Aldia, but only managed to grasp the hilt of the Primal Bonfire. Boiling fire washed over the two of them and the duke let out a scream of surprise and pain.

 **"** **Let go! Release me!"** Aldia roared, thrashing about, his tendrils flailing. One slammed into the restored Vengarl and sent him hurtling backwards into the chamber wall, another smacked Benhart to the ground before he could swing his restored blade.

"No! You've hurt too many people for me to allow you to escape!" Erik snarled, putting both hands around the burning sword. The fire grew brighter and then pain lanced through Erik, a burning sensation traveling up through his Fire Seed.

 **"** **No, no, no!"** Aldia's screams downed out in an explosion of enchanted flames, and Erik felt himself get sucked into the Bonfire.

He tumbled for what felt like hours through a seemingly endless tunnel of orange and gold fire until everything suddenly turned black and he crashed violently into something soft and cold.

"Ugh," Erik groaned, pushing himself upwards. He shook his head, trying to clear a ringing sound out of his ears, and took a look around.

"Oh, fuck me," the chef swore. All around him was nothing but ice and snow as far as the eye could see. A soul piercing chill lay upon the landscape, and he could feel frost creeping up his limbs.

Glancing around he could see the remains of a Bonfire nearby, but it was dead, the fire gone out long ago and no amount of sparks would rekindle it. Shivering, Erik rose, a tiny flame dancing to life in the palm of his left hand.

Into the endless frozen wastes of Eleum Loyce he marched, trying to escape.


	34. Chapter 34: Blizzards, Reindeer, and Cat

**_Chapter 34: Blizzards, Reindeer, and Cats, oh my!_**

"Gods damn it all," Erik moaned, shivering in the freezing winds of the north. He had been traveling for hours now, and was unsure of where he was anymore. The snow was everywhere and the wind swept away any trace of his steps. He could vaguely make out mountainous shapes in the distance but they were obscured by storms.

He had almost nothing with him, either. Just his ragged leather armor, his ancestor's book, the Dull Ember, a few mouthfuls of estus along with some Lifegems and throwing knives, and a few other knickknacks. The Bottomless Box which had most of the supplies and equipment had been left behind at the Brightstone Cove, as well as the Heide Long Sword which he had dropped when confronting Aldia. The only weapon he had left was his Titanite Kitchen Knife and the Handmaiden's ladle, and somehow he doubted a foe would find either very impressive.

The worst part was he had no idea what would happen if he died. Normally the nearest bonfire would accept him, but he had last used the Primal Bonfire, and the one he had arrived at had been dead. Would he just revive in the snow where he fell? Or would the flames carry him back to the one they had rested at before entering the ruined dukedom?

Erik wasn't keen on dying to find out. Even a single death drew an Undead closer to Hollowing, so he struggled on through the snow drifts towards the looming mountains ahead. A vague direction and destination was better than nothing, and perhaps shelter and a Bonfire could be found.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was days? Time lost all meaning to the chef in the empty wasteland. Nothing but whiteness as far as the eye could see, with only the blotchy, indistinct darkness of the mountains to guide him. Sometimes they grew closer, other times they vanished behind snow storms and seemed further than ever when the winds abated. It was maddening!

But, at long last a measure of good luck seemed to appear for Erik. Worn down and weathered bits of rubble and ruin could be seen poking out of the snow here and there, and it seemed to be the remains of an old village.

This was the first sign of civilization he'd seen since he'd arrived in this place, and he eagerly staggered into the lee of a tumbled down wall, hiding from the blistering ice and snow and ceaseless winds.

'Damn the Gods for this cold!' Erik griped, teething chattering, as he huddled close to his Pyromancy that danced in his left palm. It was the only reason he had made it this far, the magical flames doing a decent job of keeping him from turning into a popsicle.

'And now I'm hungry,' the chef whined. Thinking about the expensive frozen treat he'd experienced back in Lindelt had reminded his stomach that it was empty and needed feeding. A roar barked forth from his digesting organ, and he shrunk down on himself even further, trying to keep the hunger at bay.

As he moaned to himself, something shifted and stirred in the snow banks nearby. Erik paused in surprise as a creature that resembled a white rabbit crossed with a rat, but larger and with icicle spines, popped out of a snowy burrow and stared at the chef with pale blue eyes.

Before his eyes it curled into a ball and hurled itself, spikes first, at the Undead, who was barely able to dodge to the side. The creature struck the wall hard and seemed dazed for a second, and that was all the opening Erik needed. With his right hand he grabbed a throwing knife and plunged it down onto the creature's belly, gutting it.

His hands were aching with the cold though so the first blow was a poor one, but the second and third were better and it finally went still, even as it tried to bite and stab its attacker.

As the creature cooled in the red snow, Erik pulled out Donovan Potts' tome and shakily leafed through the pages. He was thankful that whatever magic preserved the book from age had made it resistant to the elements as well. The pages turned with only the faintest crinkle in the frosty air.

"It is unknown why, but the land of Drangleic has an unusual effect on all that dwells in it. The Lapine was supposedly an ordinary rabbit before the Land of Gods twisted and changed it. These creatures can live anywhere, but prefer wide open spaces like fields and plains or in rare cases tundra's," Erik read aloud, partly to hear something other than the wind after so long.

"A Lapine can be prepared just like rabbit. Any dish that uses rabbit meat as a base can be made with Lapine instead. But, because the Lapine is more carnivorous than its smaller counterpart its meat is slightly chewier. Be wary of Male Lapines as they grow hedgehog-like spines, and they can be surprisingly sharp, enough to poke through hardened leather."

Wiping drool from his mouth before it could freeze there, Erik looked down at the prey he'd encountered and quickly began to separate the edible parts. It was slow work, but Erik managed to carve off a sizable portion and roast it with his Pyromancy, gulping down the seared meat as fast as he could cook it.

Belly sated, he looked around for more Lapines, but they seemed to be wary of him now. Not unsurprising, he did have their blood on his hands and teeth. Still, it was better than nothing, and after a moment more of rest Erik put away the tome and stood, pushing on towards the mountains in the distance.

Three more times he found what appeared to be the ruins of a village, and three more times he was ambushed by local monsters. Twice by Lapines, which became food after a brief struggle, but at the third village, the closest one to the mountains yet, a terrifying horse-like monster covered in ice and spikes attacked him.

It was dark blue and covered in sharp, jagged shard of ice while oozing a strange black mist from its body. A pair of horns curved upwards from its head giving it the look of a cross between a horse and a reindeer. But it was fast, vicious, and able to breathe gouts of super frozen air at the Undead.

It was all Erik could do to dodge the monster. He didn't want to use any of his Pyromancy spells if he could help it, lest he run out and then be condemned to freezing to death. But at the same time he had no weapons with decent reach or penetrative powers. His throwing knives bounced off harmlessly, and his Firebombs just marred the ice-armored flesh. His ladle, though unnaturally hard, was useless as a weapon against this monster because of its defenses, and aside from his Titanite Kitchen Knife that was about the extent of his weaponry.

"Damn it!" Erik screamed again, throwing himself into the snow to avoid a jet of freezing breathe. The horse-monster neighed and attempted to trample him, rearing and stomping where the chef had fallen.

A memory flickered to life within him, courtesy of one of the souls. A strong body, but weak belly. And for a moment as the hooves crashed down towards him Erik saw a spot that looked nice and soft.

He was weak. He hated that. Hated being so pitiful! This was like being home in Lindelt, or when he'd first arrived in Drangleic; helpless and weak, unable to do much except go with the flow.

But things had changed. He met friends, he fought monsters, and he survived. He would not die like this, at the hands of a mere animal! He gripped his kitchen knife, a tool passed down in his family for generations, and stabbed upwards at the stomach of the horse.

As he scored a blow against it one of the monster's hooves shattered his left shoulder and he screamed in pain even as his attacker did the same. Thick dark blood gushed from the wound in the stomach and the monster dashed off with a screeching whinny, beaten back for the moment.

"Fuck! Shit!" Erik howled, cradling his ruined arm. There were only a few servings of Estus left in his flask, but he had no choice but to sip at it. A Lifegem wasn't nearly as potent enough to fix that level of damage to him.

His Pyromancy had gone out when the arm was shattered, and so it was a cold few minutes as the liquid fire repaired him in the corner of a fallen building he hid inside.

"This is not how I saw my day going," Erik griped, before wondering how long it actually had been. Undead could sleep, but did not need to. Food, water, and rest were illusions of their human past, clung to in order to keep up a semblance of normality. It was sometimes all that stood between sanity and Hollowing.

And here he was, out in the blistering cold, crouched against a frozen stone wall, miles from civilization. The mountain was closer, and now he could make out structures dotted here and there. Perhaps really big towers or buildings?

But it was still a ways off, and if more of those horses showed up the chef didn't know how long he'd last.

"What a fine mess…" Erik trailed off as a Lapine popped its head out of the snow nearby, snarling at him. He sighed, and raised his kitchen knife to fend it off. At least his left arm was nearly healed.

A twisted idea filled Erik's mind, and suddenly the Lapine trembled as a manic grin stretched over his face.

"Come here, bunny… I need something from you," Erik cooed evilly.

It had been a mad idea. But one that seemed to work. Horses and reindeer were herbivores and skittish around predators. That also meant that the scent of fresh blood would keep them away for a bit if they sensed it.

The Loyce Reindeer, which is what the monster was, according to Donovan's tome, was for all its appearance and attitude still a herbivore. And thus, the situation at present.

Erik was trudging through the snow, the blood of the Lapine smeared over his face, hands, and armor. It had a slightly pungent aroma but was barely noticeable in the frigid winds. But the scent was enough for the Loyce Reindeer, even heavily mutated by the Dark, to keep their distance.

They would pop up every so often, but only from afar, warily watching Erik. When he felt their gazes on him he threw himself into the snow, trying to play dead. It worked and for several miles not a thing bothered him. He had to replenish the blood a few times, as the cold froze the ichor to his body and ruined the scent.

Luring the monstrous rabbits with drops of his own blood was the tactic Erik used, and he made sure to finish them off quickly and stuff their meat into his bag for later.

And with his travel unmolested, he made it all the way up to the side of the mountains. He had steadily been going uphill, and whenever the blizzards abated he could glimpse that whatever had stood at the top of the mountains had been a castle of some kind, but layered with ice.

It had not taken Erik long to believe he had reached Eleum Loyce itself, the Frozen Citadel of Drangleic.

Out of all the kingdoms that had once existed on this place, this was the most mysterious. It was isolated and small, keeping to the north and uninterested in expanding their territory or even gathering resources. In fact Eleum Loyce rarely traded at all with outsiders. Much like Lanafir on the mainland. It should have been impossible for a country this severely ruined to even exist without outside help. But it did.

In the notes from Donovan Potts, Erik's ancestor had mentioned traveling to the icy kingdom and recorded the various cuisines there, such as Lapine stew or Loyce Reindeer pot roast, but where he'd normally speak about the cultures of the places he visited, even Donovan was tight lipped about Eleum Loyce. All he could read about it that wasn't already common knowledge was a short passage.

'The people here are stronger than any others I have met on my travels. They practice a way of life so pure and noble it brings my home of Lindelt to shame. But more than that, their leader is one of the most kind and selfless beings I have ever met. I speak not of the legendary Ivory King, a Forrossan mercenary turned lord, but of the true power behind the throne; the High Priestess. Could I possibly have sacrificed so much for so many others? The king is noble and just from what I have seen of him, but someone who would blind herself and give the eye to those who cannot see is greater than anyone else I know. I am honored to keep their secret, and take it to my grave.'

"Well Donovan, let's see what you saw in this place," Erik sighed, deftly stepping over the rubble before him.

The ruins had grown more numerous in places, making Erik believe he was coming to some sort of ancient road or highway system. He had just come to circular area dotted with a ring of tombstone-like icons, eerily similar to the ones he'd found inside Brume Tower after using the altar-idol-thing to warp there.

He walked forward, passing by a mostly intact building that looked like an old warehouse. Another structure that looked like a chapel. More and more he found these relics of a thriving nation that had vanished into a raging storm.

As he walked, Erik began to notice that there a large shelf of ice and snow was attached to the side of Eleum Loyce's mountain, and that the structures were facing this area and leading to it in a way. Was this perhaps the entrance to the fabled city?

Erik wished he had binoculars to check, but now that he thought about it and got closer, were those stairs coiling around the side of the mountainside?

"Please let there be a bonfire nearby," Erik prayed silently, striding forward. There was an old bridge some distance away which was completely covered in ice and connected to the glacier.

No, not a glacier, but a walled structure of some kind completely buried under the frozen water! A gatehouse of some kind, perhaps.

But Erik's hopes fell a bit when he saw there was a fog gate waiting at the end. He gulped down his fears and plastered a nervous smile upon his face.

"Maybe they can be reasoned with?"

Pushing through the clammy mist, the chef could swear he heard a series of growls start up as he did so.

And all his prayers went unanswered.

"WHAT IS WITH DRANGLEIC AND ALL THESE GIANT ANIMALS?!" Erik screamed as a pair of massive saber toothed tigers leapt down into a frozen arena, coats black with Darkness and snarling at the intruder.

'Lud and Zallen, pets of the Ivory King,' a voice whispered to Erik as he threw himself to the side as the first arrival roared and created a row of magical icicles.

The information came from the soul of the Lost Sinner, as well as the fact that they were the guardians of Eleum Loyce since the coronation of the king.

It didn't help much though. These monsters were fearsome before, but touched by whatever had altered the Loyce Reindeer? There was no question as to their might.

The second of them seemed content to watch as it companion toyed with Erik, lounging on a ledge overlooking the small battlefield.

'Lud is aggressive and eager to please his master. Zallen is lazy and content to wait and watch,' the Lost Sinner intoned, her knowledge pouring out unbidden. Erik just wished she'd shut up as it was distracting him, and a single mistake could mean death.

"Son of a bitch!" Erik gasped, feeling one of Lud's claws scrape across his back and draw blood, completely tearing through his armor as if it were flimsy parchment.

'Come on, Erik, think! There has to be a way out of this!' The chef thought. He had no advantages, physical or magical over this beast. Pyromancy might hurt it, but in this cold generating the power needed would drain him far faster than normal. Cryomancy was also out, as these beasts seemed content to wait in frigid temperatures and appeared to suffer no ill effects from the cold. Plus they could use it themselves.

His knife was dinky and while sharp was even less likely to be useful towards a creature this large. His ladle? Also useless. Knives and bombs? Not a chance.

And there were no terrain advantages Erik could exploit. It was a small flat basin, surrounded by a wall of packed snow. No pitfalls he could lure them into, nor sharp spikes or hazards. It was the worst place for him to be, because there was nowhere to run, either. Death waited for him. This was the end…

Something snapped inside his mind and soul. Was this really it? This was how his tale would end? Death by cats?

"Screw that!" Erik screamed, stopping dead in his tracks before spinning around to face the giant cats.

This took Lud by surprise as it stopped approaching, and Zallen raised its giant head up a smidge, intrigued.

"I am not dying here! I did not come all this way just to be killed by giant kittens!" Erik snarled, baring his teeth at Lud. The tiger growled back and leaned in close to bite the Undead, but was immediately struck on the nose by the Handmaiden's Ladle.

"No! No eating me!" Erik scolded, brandishing his 'weapon' of choice. "You do not get to do that! You are a cat! I don't care how big you are, cats don't eat people!"

Lud was confused. This was not how prey was supposed to act. Act brave for a bit, then once overwhelmed by himself or his brother, start to plead. That was how it had always been. Not since the Blood-Man and the Bone-Father had someone treated them this way!

Again, it opened its jaws wide to tear into the puny morsel, but was promptly smacked on the nose once more, this time with a frozen Lapine haunch. Lud reeled back, stunned. Did-did that Undead really just smack him with a piece of meat?

Now Zallen was paying full attention to what was going on down below. This was a funny morsel, trying to beat up his brother with food!

"I have fought a Giant, Ogres, Demons, and Hollows galore! Against my will I became a Monarch Candidate, and I still barely understand what that is!" Erik ranted, stepping forward and slapping the Lapine steak against Lud's muzzle, forcing the tiger to back up.

Upon hearing 'Monarch' and 'Candidate' spoken together like that, the two pets recalled a moment when Bone-Father had spoken with Dark-Mother about 'rekindling flames' and 'a chosen one to do so.' That term had come up a lot in those conversations. Was this odd not-human the one being waited on?

Zallen wasn't sure. He was lazy, but thoughtful. He'd see how this played out some more. Maybe if this not-human amused him enough, he'd taken him to see Dark-Mother. And if he didn't, or wasn't what was needed, then he could just kill him later.

As for Lud, he was just annoyed a tiny creature was treating him, a regal lord of the tundra, like a common housecat. He growled a bit and chose to stop playing around. His hackles rose, and magic crackled in the air…

And Lud was immediately struck twice, once with the meat, the other with the ladle. And then again. Over and over the giant tiger was having his face beaten by a puny morsel while being shouted at and berated.

"Cats! Do not! Eat! People!" Erik screamed. He was pretty sure he was losing it. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that disciplining a massive tiger like it was a naughty kitten was a stupid idea. For the rest of him though rationality had been lost when fear gave way to pure annoyance. Not anger. Just annoyance. He wasn't even sure he could be angry in such an absurd situation.

His collection of souls laughed.

"Now listen to me, and listen closely," Erik uttered, his voice low yet still audible. "I have not come all this way just to turn back or die. I have not come all this way to have my ass handed to me by a pair of oversized fleabags, regardless of how terrifying they may be!"

Something was stirring inside him, and he felt the tigers tense up. He ignored them and continued to speak.

"I am Erik Potts! Chef of Lindelt! Reluctant savior of the world! And I will not tolerate tomfoolery when so much is at stake. Do you two understand me?"

Lud cowered, falling down and trembling, his brother Zallen doing the same. Why? Because in front of them was not just a human anymore, but a Witch draped with smoldering Life, a King crowned with radiant Light, and a Dragon oozing Sorcery. And behind them all, a Fire which created shadows Darker than the night.

Erik swept his gaze over the cowed tigers, unsure of what exactly had happened, but glad of it none the less. The chef was going to milk this for all it was worth.

"Now? Which one of you is going to give me a ride to the top? I have a feeling I have someone to speak to up there."


	35. Chapter 35:Old Friends in the Frost

_**Chapter 35: Old Friends in the Frost**_

It was Zallen that ended up being Erik's steed for the trip up the mountain. The chef found the whole thing unpleasant. The shaking and wobbling as the beasts zoomed up the stairs endured with gritted teeth. The fur felt strange beneath him, like thick ink that undulated, and Erik knew he was going have to clean up the Darkness that stuck to him when he got off.

It was fast though, he couldn't deny that. Less than ten minutes had gone by since he had straddled the giant cat before he was nearing the summit.

From the looks of things, the gates of Eleum Loyce had been sealed by some sort of magical ice based on the way it twisted and grew. This strange crystal-like formation was elsewhere, plugging up entrances to the fortress-city and allowing no entry.

Unless you were a massive tiger, of course. Zallen, and Lud who followed timidly behind, had dashed up and around before coming to rest in a courtyard that was swallowed by ice and patrolled by Hollows. The Undead flinched back when they saw the Pets of the King and wisely kept their distance. Even mindless they could sense it was best to avoid such monsters. That and ingrained loyalty reminded them of their king and his love for the giant cats.

"You… approaching Eleum Loyce…" A weak voice suddenly spilled out over the ruins of the city, and Erik looked around in surprise while the tigers relaxed upon hearing the voice.

"Turn back… The old Chaos hungers still…" There was a long pause, as well as a sudden feeling of confusion that filled the air.

"You… who are you? How did you enter the city without my notice?"

"Um, hello? Can you hear me?" Erik shouted, his voice echoing slightly. "I mean, I don't want to just be shouting into the wind like a crazy person if this doesn't work."

"…I can. Now answer me."

"I rode this big lug up here, is how," Erik said, patting the side of Zallen who purred a bit.

"Zallen? And Lud? What is… how…?"

"I sort of ran into them while I was wandering about after being sucked into a Bonfire by accident," Erik elaborated. "I then smacked Lud around a bit with some frozen Lapine meat and a ladle and made them give me a lift."

"…What?"

"By the way, would your name happen to be Alsanna, by any chance?" Erik asked, looking around at the scenery as he spoke. It was odd conversing with someone when he couldn't see them, or even know where they were.

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" The woman cried, utterly perplexed.

"My name is Erik Potts, chef of Lindelt at your service!" The Undead cook called out, giving an exaggerated bow from the back of Zallen.

"Erik Potts?" There was suddenly the sound of a scuffle on the side of the ethereal voice, as if someone was jostling her.

"What is it? Stop shaking me you mad woman! …Sister, stop laughing and help me! …Will you knock it off, I'm still connected with the outside world, and you're embarrassing me! …No, he cannot hear you! Stop shouting in my ear, you, you, meanie!"

Erik coughed awkwardly and even the two tigers seemed amused, soft huffs coming from the pair of them as they listened.

"Look, Erik was it? Just come to the Grand Cathedral near the center of the city! Aava will let you through, and Zallen and Lud should know the way!" At once the sound died, and whatever connection had been there was cut. Confused, Erik only had a few seconds to look bewildered before the duo of black tigers took off, bounding over the roofs of the snowed in city heading for the massive church in the center.

After a wild ride the tigers leapt onto a long causeway lined with elegant statues. At the end of the path atop the doorway was another massive cat, this one purest white and winking in and out of visibility in the driving snow that blanketed the area.

The tiger gave a huff in greeting to her siblings, and Erik was given a sharp, appraising stare before snorting and lying back down.

Erik had to hop off the back of his mount, as the door was human sized. In thanks he removed two chunks of meat and tossed them to Zallen and Lud in thanks.

"Be good," he ordered sternly, and he heard who he assumed was Aava giving a purring laugh as her brothers obeyed, plopping down onto the walkway.

Inside, the path led him to a beautiful, massive structure that could rival the cathedrals of Lindelt any day. Passing through he found a bonfire waiting at the foot of a set of stairs that led up to a sealed door. An audience hall, perhaps? Or the main place of worship?

He didn't know, but felt immense relief when the mystical flames washed over him and took away the aches and chills.

"That hit the spot," Erik sighed in bliss, before walking up the steps to stand before the doors. He began to push them open, when they suddenly flung themselves open and he stumbled a bit, running face first into some very familiar cleavage.

"ERIK!" Arms wrapped around him and the chef found himself crushed into the ample bosom of Mytha as she picked him up and spun him around in greeting.

"Urk!" Was all the Undead cook could say in response.

"Mytha, dear, if you're not careful you might smother the poor lad," a pleasant voice called out, prompting Erik's freedom. He was placed gently to the floor and he took in some precious air.

"Good to see you too," Erik gasped, patting the forearm of the taller queen in greeting as he got his breath back.

Indeed, the towering woman before him, currently dressed in decidedly modest furs and coats that still somehow made her look sensual, was the former Queen of Alken.

Behind her, up near a massive balcony that overlooked a wide audience hall, were two familiar figures and a brand new one.

Raime was unmistakable, his gargantuan form still crackling with black energy. Plus, the size of him and his weapons was more than distinct. The ancient knight gave a stiff nod in greeting towards the chef.

Next to the former Left Hand of Vendrick was Nadalia, her black hair elegant and smooth yet still acting like a veil across her face. She too wore fur robes and other apparel for the deepest cold of Eleum Loyce.

The final figure and newest individual was almost identical to Nadalia. Pale, almost translucent skin with raven black hair shrouding her appearance. Unlike her sister though this woman wore a thin silk dress, more akin to negligee than anything a person might wear outside a bedroom, while a delicate silver circlet was placed atop her head.

This woman was on her knees before a tall, elegant throne, hands clasped in prayer as she looked down upon Erik and Mytha.

"Greetings, Undead. I am Alsanna. My sister and her… companion have told me much about you," the kneeling woman said, her voice carrying across the room despite it being less than a whisper.

Mytha smiled and waved up at the people on the balcony which made Erik chuckle and wave as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alsanna. I'm afraid I know very little about you in turn, but perhaps that could be rectified in the future."

"You politeness is a breath of fresh air, Erik Potts. Not to disparage my current guests but I do prefer a modicum of decency in my court," Alsanna said, her words conveying a hint of relief that the cook was not like the former queen at all.

"You know you love it, Alsanna! I mean, why else would you wear something so daring?" Mytha teased, leering up at the Child of Dark.

"This is the garb of the High Priestess! It is regal and ceremonial…!" Alsanna cried while her sister laughed.

"If I'm not mistaken, you were the first and only High Priestess of Eleum Loyce. If you'd really wanted to change outfits, you could have done so any time in the millennia of your reign," Nadalia said, joining in on the teasing.

"Sister, please!" Alsanna whimpered, curling up slightly where she knelt.

As the laughter faded, Erik smiled, glad to see familiar faces in this place. Something nibbled at the back of his mind somewhat though, and he frowned, turning to Mytha.

"How did you get to Eleum Loyce so quickly?" Erik asked, bringing up something that had been bothering him a bit, and Mytha's smile became a puzzled frown.

"What do you mean?"

"This place is miles away from Brume Tower. It should have taken you, Nadalia, and Raime at least a few weeks to get here, maybe a whole month depending on road conditions," Erik explained, and the former Queen of Alken tilted her head.

"Of course it did. Why would you think it didn't?"

"Because I just saw you less than a week ago!" Erik said.

The two Daughters of Darkness shared a knowing look while Mytha became concerned.

"Erik, it's been three months since we last met," Nadalia said sadly.

"What? No, it was… I couldn't have been wandering in the snow that long!" Erik protested.

"The Bonfires are not as tied to the flow of reality as you might think," Alsanna said softly. "Plus, Drangleic has always been more 'flexible' with matters of space and time. The past flows alongside the future, and intersects the present."

"You've been thrown weeks into the future, it seems," Nadalia finished, and Mytha wrapped the despondent young man in a hug.

"But, but, then, my comrades must think I am dead! I have to head back to Majula!" Erik cried, starting to struggle in the queen's grip.

"Calm yourself, Erik Potts. A few more hours won't change much." Erik stopped thrashing and looked to Alsanna in confusion.

"What do you mean? Do you need my help with something?"

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group. Even Raime shifted awkwardly.

"It seems the damage done here was more severe than I thought," Nadalia admitted sadly. "The Bed of Chaos has been active for a long time and even with myself here now the combined efforts of two Children of Dark cannot hold it back for much longer."

"What my sister says is true," Alsanna agreed. "When Sa… I mean the one you know as the Lost Sinner tried to awaken Chaos as a substitute for the First Flame she undid millennia of seals. Seals which I had spent generations building and maintaining. I should have known the reincarnation of the Witch of Izalith would have a stronger connection to the Bed than a normal being… Suddenly, all my work was becoming undone, and I had to find a stopgap. The best I could come up with was to simply freeze everything to keep the tainted flames from creeping out."

"That explains the magical ice," Erik mused. "And are the strange blizzards also a result of your powers?"

"Indeed. Sadly, my essence has suffused the snow and storms for so long I am as much a part of Eleum Loyce as I am here. Much like how my dear sister Nadalia was fused with the ash and soot of Brume Tower. It has also caused terrible mutations among the wildlife and the Hollows. The Dark is not meant to permeate the world so intimately."

"Yeah, those damn reindeer were a bother and a half to deal with," Erik grumbled.

"I'm so sorry," Alsanna apologized, bowing her head deeply. "I have inconvenienced you."

"'Inconvenienced' is a tame word for it," Erik said, trying not to sound bitter. "Regardless, I assume you need my help with something?"

"Indeed. You see, before I cast the blizzard, my dear Ivar descended into the Bed of Chaos with his loyal soldiers, leaving only a handful behind to guard me and the city. He hoped he could be like the old King of Sunlight and drive back the Chaos and allow me time to create a new set of seals. But it was not possible. Where the King of Sunlight was a god infused with the First Flame's blessing and his legion of charred knights were demigods the Ivory King was far more human and his soldiers mortal. He could not muster the power to fully abolish the Chaos."

"And yet even now he continues to fight, though he has Hollowed and his men too have become blackened by the fires of Chaos. But, there is a way to create a barrier which will halt the spread of the Bed's influence."

"What is it?" Erik asked, leaning in. He couldn't help but feel excited, and souls within him trembled in glee at the hopes of stemming the tide of corruption.

"The Soul of the Lost Sinner will be used as a sacrifice," Alsanna explained, a note of sadness in her voice. "As she was the one who broke the seals and contracted Chaos it will be her soul to feed the ritual and seal the Bed for a while."

"We would normally not even consider such an act, as her soul would have been used for the ceremony to revive the First Flame," Nadalia spoke up, arms folded. "But you have obtained the original Lord Soul of the Witch of Izalith somehow, and that will be far superior as fuel when the times comes."

Erik nodded and winced as the name of the Old Witch stirred it somewhat, making the souls of the King and Dragon rumble as well.

"What do I have to do? Just give you her soul?" Erik inquired. At this, a pained expression crossed Mytha's face.

"Not entirely. I mean, yes, you will need to do that, but you'll have to sacrifice her soul by fusing it with that of the Ivory King. So, you'll need to confront him. Which means fighting him. In the Bed of Chaos. Along with his legion of the damned."

The look of sheer disbelief Erik shot Mytha and then the Daughters of Dark would have been amusing if the situation were not so terrible.

"You want me to fight and kill the Ivory King amidst the seething energies of the source of all Demons?"

"Not kill him!" Alsanna protested. "Just weaken him enough so the Soul of the Lost Sinner can be implanted inside him, which should cause a chain reaction that will cause him and all his knights to be filled with a portion of my sister and I's power due to the ritual. Then the power will cause the Bed to be sealed within enchanted ice for a few thousand years or so. Simple!"

Again, the incredulous look the chef of Lindelt gave everyone would have been hilarious in any other circumstance.

"…Because that is so much better," Erik snarked, massaging his forehead. "Just… give me a bit to think this over, alright? This was all a bit unexpected."

"I understand. But please, try to make up your mind in 24 hours or so. The window of opportunity for the ritual is fast approaching," Alsanna pleaded, and Erik sighed.

"Just out of curiosity, if you hadn't been able to find me and get the Lost Sinner's Soul before the deadline, what would the plan have been?"

"Sacrifice ourselves to create a massive tomb of ice that would isolate this place from the rest of the world for centuries to come," Nadalia stated calmly.

"We're immortal and would eventually regenerate our bodies as the seal weakened, but it would take time, and without us to stabilize the balance between our other siblings there's a chance the Abyss would crawl up while we held back Chaos. One evil for another, I'm afraid. Though the immediate threat of the Bed is enough to justify our actions."

Erik sighed again, even deeper this time, before turning to Mytha.

"Do you have any normal beds or places to sleep? It's been a while and I think I could use a nice long nap."

"Of course! But you have to tell me about what you've been up to since we last saw each other!"

Erik's smile became forced as he recalled the fate of her step-son and his lover.

"I'm afraid I have some terrible news. You see, I found Carlyle…"


	36. Chapter 36: Into the Corruption

_**Chapter 36: Into the Corruption**_

The screams of rage finally subsided after a few hours. Mytha's fury had not abated at all though.

"I'll kill him! I'll rip Aldia apart limb by accursed limb! How dare he?!"

The queen was rampaging outside in the snow choked city, away from the cathedral and the Chaos below. She did not want her anger to draw the gaze of the Bed any more than it already was. As such her spells and superhuman strength were abusing the Hollows, ruins and relics in the city proper.

Erik just stood nearby, watching with sorrow etched into his features as his beloved friend raged against the duo of dastardly dukes who had further harmed her family. He could do nothing to stop her, and comforting her would be futile while she was still lost in her anger.

Beside the Undead chef watching the devastation with cat-like apathy were the three enormous saber toothed tigers of Alva, Lud, and Zallen, the latter of which was purring as Erik stroked his head.

The young man had surprisingly become very close with the trio of guardian beasts, Lud and Zallen due to his earlier outburst and subsequent taming of them, and Alva because she liked the food he cooked.

Erik had spent some time cooking some of the Lapine meat he'd found while watching over Mytha, and had generously fed the giant felines nibbles as he did so. This had endeared the tigers to him and they had plopped down in a protective semi-circle around the Lindelt native.

Finally, at long last, the queen of Alken's wrath subsided and she fell to her knees, gasping in weariness and anguish as her strength failed her.

"Why? Why has everyone I known and loved been taken from me?" She whimpered. Erik cautiously approached her and wrapped her in a hug. Of course she was a bit too tall for that and so it ended up looking ridiculous.

"I'm sorry. Maybe someday his memory will return in full. You just have to have hope for that. He'll need your help then. So please, do not fall into despair and go Hollow."

"I'll try, Erik," Mytha whispered, returning the hug to the young Undead. It hurt, but she couldn't fail Carlyle again. Not when he needed help the most.

"Come on, let's head back into the throne room. I made some lovely food that we can enjoy with the others," the chef tempted and the queen smiled slightly at that.

"Oh Erik, you certainly know how to please a woman," she said with a chuckle before rising. "Come, let us return."

"I hope you feel better," Alsanna offered kindly as the pair of Undead appeared before the sisters and the stoic knight. Her eyes widened a bit at the sight of the stew pot and covered platter of food being brought in by the two and a cute little stomach rumble echoed through the throne room.

"I'm glad to see someone is hungry," Erik said politely with a genuine smile. Mytha and Nadalia just smirked at the Embodiment of Fear who shrunk in on herself in embarrassment.

Erik shook his head slowly in disbelief. Either Nadalia had been far more similar to the former queen than he'd thought, or all that time spent traveling together had rubbed off on the Child of Dark. The thought of two of them was terrifying to imagine.

"I'm afraid that most of my cooking supplies were left behind when I fell through the Primal Bonfire," Erik admitted as he set down the food. "So I just used what I could scrounge up from the city and the surroundings."

"Food of any kind is most welcome. It has been too long since I have had anything to eat," Nadalia assured while Alsanna nodded in agreement. "Raime, be a dear and fetch us some plates and utensils."

A low groan was the only response, but the knight turned to obey, moving far faster than a large armored man should have been able to.

"Have you given our proposal any thought?" Alsanna inquired of the chef as he set up the food. As he did, Erik couldn't help but notice that the High Priestess of Eleum Loyce was missing her left eye. Some of what Donovan had written of started to make sense. Especially with the soul of the Lost Sinner acting up.

"We can discuss that matter after dinner. Lunch? After the meal," Erik said. When Raime returned baring a large number of old yet still viable silverware in his arms Erik quickly began to serve the food and let the giant knight carry it up to the sisters.

Mytha just wiped a bit of drool from her lips and waited with bated breath as the chef served up the meal.

"Today I made Lapine stew in the Old Forrosan tradition and some delightfully seared and baked Lapine haunches. The stew has been made from boiled snow water and Wilted Dusk Herb. The latter giving an enhancement to the otherwise weak flavor of the meat." Erik explained his food with a flourish of the Handmaiden's Ladle as he served it.

"The Lapine haunches have been carefully salted and rubbed down with a mixture of ground Blue Burrs and a pinch of Skeptic's Spice. Because Blue Burrs can be used to stave off the cold I mixed it in with the meat. Combined with the Skeptic's Spice the normally minty flavor will slowly turn into a faint heated burn, not unlike from spicy peppers. A delectable teasing of the palate I am sure you will all enjoy," Erik said politely, bowing grandly to the assembled figures.

"I remember young Donovan Potts well," Alsanna said softly as she stared longingly at the food Raime was bringing them. "He braved the cold and passed the tests to enter Eleum Loyce all to learn more about cooking. A strange but kind man. Ivar was found of him."

"He met the Ivory King in person?" Erik questioned, and the Daughter of Dark nodded.

"He did. My love was most impressed with the conviction of the chef, as well as his skills. He was a good man. I am sure he'd be proud of you," Alsanna said softy, giving Erik a warm smile.

"Ooh, this is good! Mmmm, it's been so long sent I've had such tender meat in my mouth," Mytha groaned sensually from beside the chef, and the High Priestess and cook blushed crimson from her innuendos.

"Mytha, please!" Alsanna spluttered. "That is indecent!"

"What? I'm just talking about this excellent food Erik provided us?" the queen teased.

"Now, now, Mytha, please don't tease my darling, sheltered little sister," Nadalia said. "After all, that is my job."

"I hate you both," Alsanna pouted. "And technically I'm the older one here!"

"Not with that innocent attitude of yours," Nadalia chuckled as she pinched her sibling's cheek. As gentle laughter filled the room, Erik couldn't help but marvel at how human the two Sisters of Dark seemed. They did not seem like terrible monsters like the ancient legends made them out to be.

That they were willing to give up their lives, even momentarily, for the safety of the world was praise worthy. And certainly not something monsters would do.

"I've thought it over, and made my decision," Erik stated, his words drawing attention to him. "What do I have to do to stop the Bed of Chaos?"

~ ~ / / ~ ~

.

"Now, you're sure this will work?" Erik asked again as he watched the two Sisters of Dark doing something with the Soul of the Lost Sinner.

He had given it up a little over an hour ago and the two eldritch beings had poured over it the entire time, muttering ancient spells and drawing runes upon its surface with their fingertips which blazed with purple light.

"Yes it will. Now kindly shut up and let us work." Erik raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped back away from the pair. The fact that it had been Alsanna who had snapped at him was the real deciding factor in his hasty retreat.

'It's always the quiet ones,' his father had once said about women. And despite repeatedly asking his father what exactly that meant Erik had never gotten a decent answer. 'You'll find out when your older' being utterly useless and a copout response.

Still, seeing and hearing the normally kind and demure Alsanna growl like a feral animal whenever Erik tried to interrupt them gave him an inkling of what his father may have tried to warn him about.

"Ok, we freed the Ivory Knights," Mytha called out as she entered the throne room accompanied by Raime and four white clad knights.

"Thank you. Now be quiet," the Embodiment of Fear snarled, and Mytha backed up a few steps with her hands raised in mock surrender.

"Alright, no need to bite my head off. Sheesh, it's always the quiet ones."

"That's what my father said," Erik said in agreement with the queen. Raime snorted as the dark skinned giantess nodded.

"A wise man. You should treasure his sage advice forever young one."

"If you're finished, so are we," Nadalia finally said, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten their hands on the soul. She sounded tired as she passed the soul, now pulsing with arcane sigils and runes, over to Erik.

"So, this should do it? And all I have to do is slam this into his chest?" Erik questioned.

"After you've weakened him and we extract his soul, yes," Nadalia said wearily.

"Normally, extracting a soul is instantly fatal. However, because Ivar has been so suffused with the energy of Chaos for so long there is a tiny pause between his soul being removed and his body succumbing to the lack of it. In that window you must implant the Lost Sinner's Soul inside him by slamming it into his body. After that the runes will do their job."

"We can only do all of that when he is weakened. Which is why you must fight him to insure we have a chance at this," Alsanna finished. "The four remaining Ivory Knights will aide you in this battle, as will Raime and Mytha."

"Damn straight we will," the Jugo royal exclaimed, pounding the butt of her spear into the ground with a determined look. The Left Hand of Vendrick merely nodded.

"So what will it be like? Will we have to worry about contamination from Chaos or the Blight while we do battle?" Erik asked and to his relief Nadalia shook her head.

"No, our powers are enough to repress such things. You will be safe as long as you do not directly fall into the Chaos itself."

"Then I suppose it is time. Let us begin," Erik declared, adjusting the sword at his side. Since he'd lost his Heide Long Sword Alsanna had been generous enough to give him one of the Ivory Straight Swords used by the knights of Eleum Loyce. With that the chef felt he could manage in a fight, seeing as the blade seemed unnaturally attuned to his Cyromancy. In fact he could channel his ice magic through it, and the Daughter of Fear had been very impressed by the display of magic which had been only known to her own people.

Is everyone ready? Alright, now you must descend towards the entrance to the Bed of Chaos," Alsanna announced as a door creaked open beneath the balcony. As it did a gust of searing hot wind blasted into the room and Erik gagged a bit as the stench of Sulphur filled his nostrils.

"Please, stay safe." With that, the two Children of the Dark settled down into a stance that resembled a prayer as they channeled their magic and prepared for the upcoming battle.

A silent nod was the only reply and Erik quickly headed down to the depths, stopping as he came to a fog gate cutting off entry to a deep pit.

"So I just fall through?" Erik hazarded, to which the voice of Alsanna replied, booming off the walls.

"Yes, our magic will slow your fall and prevent harm, as well as lift you out once the battle is finished."

"Ok, just checking," the chef said before stepping into the seething mist and plunged downwards.

A disjointing sensation of vertigo struck him as well as a surge of heat that billowed up from below. As he fell and was joined by the others Erik caught of terrifying glimpse of what lay at the bottom.

An endless roiling sea of flames and molten earth, bubbling and spitting all the while strange shapes danced and cavorted into the impossible heat. The oozing lava all seemed to pool directly below them, and as they fell the Undead approached a wide platform that somehow floated above the madness below.

The stonework seemed ancient and resembled no architecture he knew, though the Old Witch's Soul gave off a feeling of sorrow and nostalgia as the final remnant of once great Izalith came up to meet them.

With a faint thud, Erik landed on the platform and gazed around in awe at the terrible vista before him. Behind him the chef heard his companion's land, Mytha uncharacteristically silent as she took in the origin of her semi-transformation into a snake.

There was no time for sightseeing however as a deep reverberating booming shook the platform, and three portals that may have once been doors that connected to long lost rooms blazed to life, swirling vortices of red energy appearing in their frames.

From out of the Chaos stepped a trio of men in hideously charred and heat deformed armor that looked akin to that worn by the untarnished Ivory Knights. Swords, halberds, and Pyromancy was raised against the intruders, while Erik and his allies raised their own weapons.

"Let's do this!" Erik cried, a deafening roar from Raime the only response. The legendary Twin Sword Knight lunged at the blackened warriors and lay into them, his first blow splitting a Pyromancer in twain while his back hand sent the swordsman stumbling back. The battle was begun.

More Charred Knights emerged from the depths of the three portals and clashed with the Undead, neither side giving quarter. Erik blasted Cryomancy at the Chaos addled knights as Mytha hurled Sorcery into them. The quartet of Ivory Knights showed off their skill with weapons as they held back their twisted comrades, and Raime just rampaged, going wild on the poor fools that were his opponents.

Then something strange happened. One of the Ivory Knights was limping, oozing blood that stained his armor. Suddenly he leapt forward with stunning energy and dashed for the nearest portal. He planted his sword into the ground before it and shone with light, before exploding.

Instead of fire though the knight seemed to become a massive wall of glittering ice that sealed off the Chaos vortex, preventing new Charred Knights from stepping through from it.

"By the gods!" Erik shouted, stunned at the suicidal attack done by the Ivory Knight.

"Do not fear, young Erik Potts. This is what they wished for. Their souls shall become ice that will silence the raging Chaos. It is their final gift of fealty to their king," Alsanna said, her voice descending from the sky.

It wasn't long before two more of the Ivory Knights, wounded and limping, sprinted for the remaining two portals and began to glow, sealing off the entrances to the depths of Chaos and isolating the few remaining Charred Knights from reinforcements.

"That's just weird," Mytha declared, blasting some Soul Spears into a halberd wielding black knight.

"Yeah," Erik muttered, stabbing the wounded Charred Knight with his new sword and freezing it solid with ice from the inside out.

Raime just grunted before looking around for another target, only for his shoulders to slump when he saw there were no more foes to smash.

"Stay on guard! Ivar is approaching!" Alsanna's voice cried out and was soon followed by a deep rumbling that shook the platform.

At the end of the floating remnant of Izalith twin obelisks rose, stained with soot, which soon generated a crackling vortex between them. The Undead and remaining Ivory Knight tensed, waiting.

They did not have long to wait. A deep moo carried out over to them as a massive humanoid bull stepped out of the twisting flames.

"Oh shit, a Tauros Demon!" Mytha shouted, ready to attack it.

"Wait, it's injured!" Erik noticed.

The demon staggered out, lowing pitifully, before pitching forward and revealing it was missing most of its back. It tried to squirm away from the portal as if fleeing from something behind it.

Without warning a massive sword flew out of the vortex and impaled the back of the demon's head. It slumped to the ground and slowly began to dissolve into red particles.

A tall figure stepped out of the Chaos and plucked the blade from the remains before flicking it to clear the tainted blood off. He looked up at the four figures in front of him and growled.

Clad in ornate white armor similar to the Ivory Knights, this man was taller by at least two heads, easily topping Raime and Mytha's height, showing off the power of his soul. He clutched a pair of swords, one like an improved version of the Ivory Straight Sword but thicker and larger, the other like two blades twisted around each other creating a helix shape.

And upon his helm he wore a crown made of platinum that gleamed in the tainted flames. It was elegant and delicate looking with an orange gemstone glowing softly in the center. The whole ensemble pulsed with energy and Erik knew that this man was easily the most powerful figure he had yet encountered.

"Oh, Ivar…" Alsanna uttered sorrowfully. The Ivory King twitched at his name and turned to stare up at the ceiling. With a groan he looked away down at the Undead who were arrayed before him.

"Go! Keep your distance…!" Erik called out. He didn't finish as the grand warrior hurled himself forward, jumping impossibly far and fast to slash Erik across the chest.

The chef was sent flying as blood and entrails poured out of his body from the blow and he landed heavily near the rear of the platform.

"Erik!" Mytha cried, only to block a heavy blow from the straight sword of the king. She barely managed to twist out of the way of his helix sword that tried to cut her open.

Raime roared and charged the slender man and the duo began to exchange blows. It gave a chance for Erik to swallow two mouthfuls of Estus and a handful of Lifegems. Slowly his gaping wound closed up and the Undead gasped in pain as he healed.

"Argh," he groaned. "He hits like a gods-damned castle!"

"He was a warrior from Forossa," Alsanna said, her words carrying a note of apology in them.

"What are his weaknesses? How can we beat him?" Erik demanded, watching in shock as Raime, one of the famed supreme warrior of Drangleic, was slowly but surely driven back and overpowered by the rapid fire attacks of the Ivory King.

"Work in tandem and you should be able to wear him down. One on one and you will have very little chance of victory. You must team up to defeat him!" Alsanna declared, her voice somewhat panicked. Erik grunted as he stood up, trying to ignore his aches.

"Mytha! Circle behind and shower him with spells! Don't let him have a chance to recover his guard! Raime, keep holding him back, don't let yourself be forced away! Ivory Knight, distract your lord!" Erik called out, weaving around the arena trying to reach their foe.

The queen followed Erik's instructions and quickly blasted the king with her Sorcery. A few of them struck, but most were deflected or dodged even without the man looking behind him. Though that gave Raime an opening to put the Ivory King on the back foot, and the knight slashed wildly at the pristine monarch.

Lastly, the Ivory Knight shot bolts of Cryomancy that served as an annoyance as they pattered harmlessly off the glistening armor.

"Take this!" Erik shouted, stabbing his blade into the ground. He unleashed his Cryomancy and the kings feet were quickly encased in enchanted ice.

It barely held him down for a few seconds as the Ivory King's sheer strength allowed him to shatter his bonds with a single hop. But freezing his feet was not the goal of the attack.

No, Erik's purpose was to force the man to jump. Because in the air, you cannot react fast enough.

"Raagh!" Raime howled, slamming his oversized sword into the side of the Ivory King, sending him flying. Mytha unleashed a storm of Heavy Soul Spears which crashed into the airborne monarch and sent him into the ground, a plume of ash and dust erupting from the point of impact.

"Stay sharp, I doubt that did much to him," Erik warned. Everyone nodded.

The chef was proven correct as a loud hum and crackle filled the air and the dust blew away. The Ivory King stood, his two blades now wrapped in a buzzing corona of blue energy.

He stunned them all by jamming his twisted blade into his chest, and to everyone's shock the wounds he had sustained from the barrage healed up before their eyes!

Taking advantage of their stunned state the powerful man bent his knees slightly, a sign he was about to leap.

"Scatter!" Erik cried. It was useless though. Fast as a blur the Ivory King shot forward, swinging his swords in an amazing dance of death. The Ivory Knight's right arm went flying with a splash of gore as Mytha let out a scream as she staggered back with a deep gash through her side.

Then with an almost lazy flick of his swords the Ivory King unleashed a shockwave of ravening magic at Raime which sent the blue and black knight into the ground with blood pooling around his feet from the deep wounds in his body.

"…Shit."

Erik immediately regretted speaking as the Ivory King turned towards him and stalked forward, a bestial aura around the regal lord. With arrogant slowness Ivar approached, a dark chuckle spilling from his helm. Erik felt his body freeze up and he couldn't move for fear of the man in front of him attacking.

The Ivory King stepped in front of Erik, giving a mocking bow before raising his swords and placing them in a cross shape upon the chef's neck.

Erik closed his eyes. He felt ensorcelled steel bite deep, and then the rushing of fire filled his ears.


	37. Chapter 37: Victory over Tainted Flames

**_Chapter 37: Victory over Tainted Flames_**

Erik blinked, opening his eyes to find he was standing in front of the bonfire that lay before the throne room. The young Undead winced as he reached up and felt where the king's swords had removed his head. He suppressed a shiver and hurried up the stairs to return to the fight. He couldn't leave the others alone with the Ivory King.

"Are you alright, Erik?" Nadalia asked in worry as she saw the chef run up back to the pit.

"I'm fine, the Ivory King just beheaded me," he said, waving a hand dismissively as he returned to the Bed of Chaos.

Preparing to jump back down into the hole, Erik had time to formulate a plan. It was clear that the Ivory King was strong, abnormally so. If that was the true power of one of the three Legendary Kings of Drangleic, Erik was glad that Ichorous Earth which had taken over the Old Iron King had been so easily brought down by ranged attacks. He did not want to imagine facing the iron loving monarch in his prime or in melee combat.

Not to mention there was that strange, bent blade that healed wounds as easily as it dealt them. Something like that was almost unfair in Erik's opinion. But this was Drangleic, and if things were fair there would be no Curse.

In order to defeat the Ivory King strategy was needed. Ideas flashed through his mind as he tried to think of a way to defeat the king of Eleum Loyce. His speed was the real threat. He could move fast enough to dodge most of the Undead's attacks, and his sword skill let him deal lots of damage in a short amount of time. Slowing him down was vital.

To that end, Erik crafted a devious plot, which hinged on two things; Mytha's skill with Sorcery and King Ivar's love for Alsanna.

Seconds later Erik emerged from the hole and fell towards the platform. Below, he could see Raime had recovered and Mytha was busy blasting the Ivory King with spells. The Ivory Knight had apparently transmuted into ice to seal off the Chaos portal while the chef had perished.

Taking a deep breath, Erik channeled as much of his Cryomancy as he could into his blade and raised it over his head while he fell. Above him trailed a massive sword of ice, attached to his own.

"Head's up!" Erik shouted, moments before he slammed down into the floor and swung his sword down. The miniature glacier crashed into the Ivory King who barely had time to raise his weapons in defense. Erik didn't waste time to look at the damage he had done, choosing to run over to the glowing pile of souls that stood where he'd died earlier.

Absorbing his lost souls Erik turned to Mytha and beckoned her over.

"I have a plan!" He declared. A raised eyebrow was her only response but she hurried over none the less.

"It better be a good one. This bastard is quick and hits as hard as Castor," the queen of Alken griped. In the background Raime took advantage of the disoriented king to try and keep him distracted. He would buy his comrades time to form their scheme.

"You want me to WHAT?!" Mytha screeched, eyes wide with shock. Erik just nodded, peering out at the battle of titans nearby.

"You saw how the Ivory King reacted when he first stepped in and heard Alsanna's voice. He might be Hollow, but he still has attachments to her. This plan is crazy, I'll admit, but do you really think we can beat him in a straight-up, fair, match?"

"You have a point," Mytha growled, before sighing and accepting the crazy plan.

"If this doesn't work, I'm telling Lucatiel and Chloanne," the queen vowed, readying her spear-catalyst. "And if it does, you owe me some quality time together."

"But you won't tell them?" Erik asked, slightly dreading what exactly 'quality time' meant for the taller woman.

"Oh no, I'll still tell them, but I'll make it sound like a brilliant plan instead of the cockamamie one it really is," Mytha stated, before the blue glow of Sorcery filled the area briefly.

"Ivar, what are you doing? Please stop!" The voice of Alsanna suddenly called out, and the Ivory King froze mid-combat. His unexpected stop meant that Raime's blade fell upon him and soon the ruler of Eleum Loyce jumped away, trailing glowing orange ichor from his wounds.

The crowned head of the Ivory King snapped towards the source of the voice, only for him to stagger in shock at what he saw.

Alsanna stood there before him, frail and timid, hands clasped together in front of her while her long black hair shrouded her features. Still clad in her thin silk dress, she made a beautiful sight for sore eyes, and the king staggered forward.

"Al…sanna…" He groaned out, withered throat calling out the name of his lover.

Once more Raime took advantage of the Ivory King's distraction and struck him with his swords, creating deep wounds on his back.

Ivar spun around to face his attacker but Alsanna's voice called out to him again and he turned back to face his beloved.

"Please, stop," she begged. The Ivory King raised his right hand, still clutching his sword, but hesitated. Raime attacked once more and the ancient monarch prepared to retaliate…

"Ivar I said stop! Look at me!" The authority in the voice of the High Priestess forced the Ivory King to turn to look fully at the Child of Fear…

Only for his head to snap back and his right hand to drop his straight sword and cover his helmet's visor.

Why? Because Alsanna had gripped the edges of her risqué-dress and thrown it open, flashing her chest to the entire Bed of Chaos and the Ivory King.

A shrill shriek of pure embarrassment echoed forth as the real Alsanna was forced to watch her double show off in front of her lover.

But that moment of distraction was enough. Erik darted forward and jammed his Loyce Straight Sword into the Ivory King's stomach and forced as much of his Cryomancy as he could into the monarch. Instantly a veritable wall of enchanted ice erupted forth and trapped his lower body as well as his right arm and sword inside.

"Erik! We are beginning to tear Ivar's soul out right now! Prepare the Lost Sinner's Soul!" Nadalia's voice cut in over Alsanna's screeches of disgrace.

The chef nodded and held out his right hand, conjuring up the soul in question and prepared to slap the glowing blob of spiritual energy into the Ivory King's chest.

There was a terrible howling from the trapped king accompanied by an explosion from the surrounding Chaos. Lava frothed and splashed up against the edges of the platform as the Bed reacted to the burst of Dark magic.

The Ivory King tried to escape, but Raime rushed up and pressed down on his shoulders while Erik continued to pump Cryomancy into the ice to keep him trapped.

With agonizing slowness a large golden hued soul started to poke out of the armored torso of the king. After a few moments of thrashing it popped out of the man's body, followed by a geyser of pure white regular souls. The golden one zoomed up into the ceiling and through the hole towards the two Sisters.

As soon as it was out Erik smashed the rune inscribed shard of life into Ivar's chest and with a scream of agony the Lost Sinner's soul sunk into his body. He struggled for a bit before falling limp. Erik waited for a moment before leaving his sword in the man's body and stepping back, giving a respectful bow to the defeated monarch.

Once they were sure the Ivory King was beaten the image of Alsanna on the platform faded, revealed a red faced Mytha. Her use of the Chameleon Sorcery had allowed her to imitate Alsanna's form and voice for a bit, which gave enough time for the plan to work. The shock of seeing his beloved once more, coupled with flashing her chest, had been enough to weakened Ivar just enough.

Of course, the spell only changed one's shape, they had to do all the actions themselves which meant Mytha had still been forced to reveal herself for the plan to work, and in between glowing red with embarrassment and pride at winning, she was scheming terrible things to befall the chef in the near future.

"We did it!" Erik cheered. Before he could celebrate any more the ground began to shake, and enormous pillars of ice began to explode into existence all around the area. Spreading out from the last remaining piece of Izalith frozen energy spilled forth, entrapping the searing lava and Chaos within. It seemed impossible for ice to win over fire, but there it was, happening before their eyes.

Of course, the ice was creeping up along the platform as well, and given how it subsumed the Bed of Chaos it would like freeze the Undead where they stood. And based on how much power was being thrown around it was up in the air whether or not the Bonfires would reclaim and save them.

"Quick, run this way! We'll pull you out!" Nadalia called out, and a beam of white light fell from the hole and illuminated the ground. Raime and Mytha dashed off instantly, with Erik only a few steps behind.

However, his escape was cut short when the Ivory King's hand shot out and grabbed onto the chef's arm, halting him in his tracks.

"Erik!" Mytha screamed.

"No! Go on without me!" Erik shouted. "I'll be fine, you need to leave right now!"

"But…"

"Go!"

With trembling form Mytha nodded and ran into the light, trusting in the chef to follow. Once she was gone along with the knight, Erik turned back to Ivar.

"What do you need, King Ivar?"

The Ivory King released Erik and reached up, grabbing his crown from his head and passing it to the Monarch Candidate. He then also reached for his helix sword and gave it to the chef, before he grabbed his collar and pulled Erik close.

"Save the world… and save Alsanna…Aldia seeks the daughters of Manus…" he whispered to the chef from Lindelt. All around them the ice encroached closer.

He then lifted Erik with his one good arm and hurled the scrawnier male towards the escape route. Erik fell into the light and was sent rocketing into the air, zooming up to safety, even as he watched the ice surround and engulf the Ivory King, who simply stared up at the ceiling as everything faded to white.

"Umph!" Erik grunted as he was thrown onto his ass outside of the entrance to the Bed of Chaos and winced at the impact. He stood up none the less and was instantly swept up into a hug by a relieved Mytha. From the side Raime gave the chef a silent thumbs up.

"Don't you ever do that again!" Mytha scolded, cuddling Erik into her chest.

"I make no promises," Erik said cheekily, before he was crushed even tighter in the queen's arms.

"Come on, little man. We should see the Sisters and find out what happens next," Mytha declared, carrying Erik back into the throne room. A chuckling Raime trailed behind, his amusement only growing as Erik tried to gesture for help from the stoic knight. None came, and soon the trio made their way back into the throne room to meet with Nadalia and Alsanna. In between them trapped in a cage of purple fire the golden soul of the king hung suspended.

"I'm glad you are safe," Nadalia said, weariness in her voice.

"Did you have to use my appearance like that?" Alsanna demanded, a glare being shot at the chef and queen below her. In spite of her exhaustion, she still managed to convey her lack of satisfaction.

"Apologies, but it was the only thing I could think of that would help her. His love for you was clearly strong to have lasted centuries battling Demons," Erik said softly.

"I see Ivar entrusted his crown to you," the Child of Fear said, sorrow tinging her words as she stared down at the elegant white headpiece the Ivory King had left behind.

"Yes. And I promise, I will be sure to treat it with the respect it deserves, as well as his sword," Erik vowed.

"The Ivory Crown slowly heals the wearer, restoring flesh and body. As for the sword, I created it as well. That is the sword of Eleum Loyce, crafted from my own essence along with the crown. It can heal those it strikes as well as deal devastating damage," Alsanna explained. "I give them both to you in hopes that it shall be able to aide you complete your mission, oh Monarch Candidate."

"Thank you," Erik said with reverence, bowing. Well, trying to, as he was still clutched tight in Mytha's grip.

"If that is all, I need to return to Majula and ensure every one of my survival," the chef announced.

"Oh no you don't!" Mytha protested, looking down at Erik with a fierce light in her eyes.

"You still have to make it up to me for that stunt you made me pull down in the Bed," the queen declared.

"What do you mean?" Erik whimpered. His worries only grew when he saw Mytha lick her lips in a disturbingly arousing way.

"You'll see. Oh, you'll see!" With a mad cackle, Mytha carried off Erik into the depths of the cathedral, kicking a door open to reveal an opulent bedroom.

"Wait, what are you going to do in my room?!" Alsanna cried, realizing where they were headed with a red face.

"Something I've been waiting to do for over six hundred years," Mytha growled sensually. She tossed the chef onto the massive king sized bed. There was a 'Pompf!' as the young man hit the thick yet soft mattress.

"Wha-what are we going to do on the bed, Mytha?" Erik choked out, staring up at the much taller women as she loomed over him with a hungry expression. She said nothing, and just slammed the door shut behind her.

Nadalia shared a look with her sister as the pair vanished into the bedroom.

"So, want to swap stories about our respective lovers?"

"What? Nadalia!" Alsanna exclaimed.

"Oh come on! Was Ivar as fast in the sheets as he was in battle?"

"Nadalia!"  
"What? I'm just curious! I mean, Castor could go for hours with that ungodly stamina of his!"

"Nadalia!"

The Child of Loneliness laughed uproariously as her sister ran away, blushing a vivid crimson.

"Come on! We have to do something while we wait for those two to finish! Let's have some family bonding talk!"

"Nadalia!"


	38. Chapter 38:Majula sans Erik

_**Chapter 38: Majula sans Erik**_

It was just another day in the Town of New Beginnings, as some unknown Undead had dubbed Majula by scrawling this phrase on the entry way to the village.

At least, it should have been. But the bonfire the Emerald Herald kept vigil over suddenly erupted into a towering pillar of golden flames that pierced the sky. No one could miss that, and when three figures were hurled out of the flames with incredible force everyone tensed, preparing for combat. The first one to rise was a huge, lumbering man in rust red armor, his helm shaped like a lion while he carried two massive weapons and a shield at his side.

The second was a much smaller man with a beard who carried an enormous great sword that glowed a soft blue. He was dressed in old, worn armor, and was looking around with an expression of relief at the familiar place he'd ended up.

The third was the most surprising. He was a Lionkin, tall and brawny with a tan coat and mane who was staggering around dazed. An oversized axe lay at his feet along with a wooden shield.

"Is this Majula?" The red armored giant of a man inquired, a tinge of sorrow in his voice at its state.

"It is! Ah-ha! We made it back safely!" The tanned man with the massive sword exclaimed, cheering their good luck. "I thought we were goners when the bonfire exploded like that!"

"Urgh." That was all the Lionkin got out before dashing to the edge of the cliff and vomiting.

"Is that you, Benhart?" Melentia called out in surprise, rising shakily to her feet to approach the newcomers.

"Oh, Lady Melentia. Yes, tis I!" The knight from Jugo proudly proclaimed.

"Who are your friends there?" The hag inquired, looking from one large figure to the next.

"The one feeding the fishes is Rav'el, a good man, err, Lionkin. We met him in the forest after helping his clan with a Basilisk problem," Benhart introduced. "The tall fellow next to me is none other than Red Blade Vengarl himself!"

Everyone tensed upon hearing that name. After all, it may have been centuries but the name of the legendary Forossan mercenary and his blood thirsty legacy remained. Their fears were alleviated somewhat when the tall man bowed politely.

"A pleasure to meet you all. It pains me to see the once prosperous Majula sunk to such a pitiful state," the ancient knight lamented.

"Has anyone seen a chef by any chance? Kind of scrawny but with rogue-ish charms? Goes by the name of Erik Potts?" Benhart continued. At his name many of the spectators stirred, especially Shanalotte and Chloanne. "He was traveling with us up until the bonfire exploded."

"No one else has exited the bonfire all day. Or yesterday. Perhaps he went somewhere else?" Shalquoir suggested, slinking up to the trio.

At the sight of the cat Vengarl massaged his head and muttered 'another Alvina, just my luck,' while Rav'el fell to one knee in subservience.

"Rise my child, no need to show me such respect. Here, I am just your average talking cat-merchant," the feline spoke, waving a paw towards the Lionkin. The chieftain nodded slowly before rising.

"Tell me, you said young Potts was with you?"

"Indeed, Lady Shalquoir. I had traveled with the chef for some time before we encountered something very strange in the Brightstone Cove," Benhart explained.

"Did he take a wrong turn perhaps? It's not unusual to get lost when using a bonfire's warping power," the cat said, curling up at the Emerald Herald's feet.

"No, my lady. To be honest we did not use a bonfire at all. It just sort of erupted when Erik tried to confront that deformed monstrosity that emerged from it."

"Pardon?" Shalquoir tilted her head to the side and everyone shared looks with each other.

"That accursed Aldia accosted us when we tried to use the Primal Bonfire in the Cove," Vengarl snarled. "His form may have mutated but I still recall his slimy, vile voice."

"Aldia? You mean King Vendrick's brother, the duke?" Chloanne asked, surprised.

"That cur was spouting nonsense, trying to get Erik to do something for him," Benhart explained. "But the boy was furious with him for some reason and tried to attack the man. However the duke attempted to escape back into the bonfire when Erik grabbed the hilt of the burning sword. There was an explosion, and here we are!"

"What?! Aldia lives? No, that's impossible! I saw him die!" Shanalotte cried, fear and loathing filling her soul at the mention of her old tormentor.

"Well he seems to have taken on a new form. Sort of looked like a rotted dragon made of bones and wood," Vengarl said. "And it seems he did something. If Erik is not here, then he may have been displaced by what ever happened."

Standing from her boulder the last of the Fire Keepers hurried over to Majula's Bonfire and knelt before it, staring into its crackling embers.

"What is she doing?" Carhillion asked, wandering over.

"She is using her connection to the Bonfires to scry for our missing chef," Shalquoir explained, licking a paw. "It shouldn't be hard to check for him since she has such an 'attraction' to strong souls."

The way the cat said that made some of the onlookers chuckle slightly while Chloanne's face twisted in annoyance.

After several minutes of in-depth prying and peering Shanalotte rose, shaking her head.

"I cannot find him," she announced. She swallowed a lump in her throat and suppressed tears that threatened to form in her eyes. Why? Why was his disappearance so painful? Why did her heart ache all of sudden when she was unable to locate the Undead?

Gasps ran through the area at her declaration, and Chloanne pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

"What do you mean? I thought you could find anyone!"

"He's gone. Somehow, whatever happened has severed his connection to the Bonfires. But he isn't dead."

"How can he be gone but not dead?" Vengarl demanded, leaning against one of the rocks scattered about.

"I-I cannot explain it, but it feels like he has somehow left Drangleic yet is still there. His time is… misplaced," the Emerald Herald explained.

"In the past it was possible for powerful artifacts to allow a person to slip through the bonds of time. If I recall Aldia was experimenting with an item that would allow him to traverse the ages," Shalquoir said, stretching before plodding over to the despondent Fire Keeper. "Here in Drangleic time and space are fluid. And if by some chance Aldia succeeded in his mad quest, then I fear the chef may have been thrown through time."

"Then what can we do?" Chloanne asked, all but begging. Shalquoir just gave a kitty equivalent of a shrug.

"Nothing. We just have to wait for him to return to the flow of time. It may take days, or months, or even years. But have hope. I can still feel his connection to the Great Souls. He is still the Monarch Candidate, and he will return to us."

The crowd dispersed in a depressed mood, trying to get on with their lives without the bright spark the chef from Lindelt had provided. Dreariness returned to Majula and settled like a shroud.

Time passed. Three months went by without a single trace of Erik, and though there was much commotion early on it eventually settled down.

Chloanne spent her time with her father as well as Maughlin, practicing her skills as an ore trader by examining the materials the pair of them gathered and worked on. Maughlin had been thrilled to have someone else from Volgen around, especially one his age who understood his craft. That fact she was a beautiful woman wasn't bad at all, either. He and Lenigrast worked on all sorts of projects alongside the buxom merchant.

Gilligan stayed as far from the father and daughter pair as he could, as a confrontation was the last thing he desired. Sure, he was Undead, but that didn't mean he liked dying or getting hurt. He spent most of his time fiddling around with ladders and helping with various construction jobs to make the houses a bit more intact and habitable. Say what you like about the Laddersmith, but he knew his craft, however odd it might be.

Magerold had struck up a unique companionship with the cartographer, Kale. Both spent time pouring over old maps and documents inside the massive house. The former because he was seeking undiscovered treasures while the latter just wanted to explore Drangleic. The interaction was good for Kale, as he had someone to help him focus.

Melentia was a strange one as always. She sat in her little corner near the entrance, greeting the occasional new comer and selling her wares. Her cackle still set people's teeth on edge though.

Carhillion continued to experiment and study with the _Chains of Caitha's_ enchanted navigation device, content to spend all his time on doing what he loved. He kept trying to get the rest of Majula's inhabitants to listen to his lectures on Sorcery and magic though.

Licia kept up her vigil in the underground passage, keeping the Red Phantoms at bay. There was an unusual amount of activity from them in recent days, and the Blue Sentinels often popped in to deal with them. The Cleric of Lindelt was oddly distant from the blue clad Phantoms, and only spoke to Chloanne, the only other young woman in Majula besides the Emerald Herald.

Saulden, for his part as Grand Master of the Way of Blue, fought alongside Licia often, keeping the accursed followers of Nahr Alma away from the last safe haven for the Undead. He spoke little, and seemed to strike up a rapport with the equally silent Cleric, though she rarely bothered to give him anything other than mistrusting glares. He also commanded the Twin Azure Orders to keep an eye out for the young Undead.

When the knight wasn't fighting he was lounging on the steps of the monument, sitting next to a very odd new guest.

Vengarl, once the infamous 'Butcher of Forossa,' had really mellowed out after centuries as a decapitated head. He spent most of his time resting next to the monument alongside Saulden. He would occasionally aide the crestfallen knight in repelling the Brothers of Blood but for the most part ennui had consumed him and he did nothing but stare with sorrow at the names scrawled upon the symbol to those who fell to the Giants. He'd known many of them, and it reminded him of old mistakes and a poorly lived life.

Benhart had left Majula in an attempt to seek out Erik. He refused to believe he was gone until time decided the chef could return, and wandered out of the town often, carrying the Lindelt man's Bottomless Box around for safekeeping.

Rav'el had returned to his tribe as quickly as he could. His Pride needed its leader and with the Gyrm now allied to a dark and fallen god they had to prepare for war.

Occasionally Lucatiel and the young Pyromancer Rosabeth would pop in to grab supplies. When they'd first heard about Erik's disappearance they promised to look around while they sought Aslatiel. So far though nothing had come from either front.

The swordswoman from Mirrah grew increasingly despondent and desperate. Two of the people closest to her had vanished, and it was only Rosabeth's upbeat attutide that kept Lucatiel from slipping.

Shalquoir appeared utterly unconcerned with the events around Erik's situation. After all, as she had said, he was still tied to the First Flame. It would not let the cook escape that easily and sooner or later the Undead would be dragged back onto the path of the Monarch Candidate in his own timeline. All they'd have to do was wait.

And lastly, there was Shanalotte. Any spark of life had left her. She just sat at the bonfire, day and night, staring into it. Hoping and waiting and praying for the man who refused to leave her thoughts.

She did not understand why. What spell had the chef cast on her? No matter how she tried she could not forget his mussy brown hair or his shining smile or his bright, innocent eyes. Erik had wormed his way into her heart, and she couldn't help but feel lost. Despite her long years alone, she finally felt the crushing loneliness Shanalotte had vowed she would never experience.

But one day, everything changed.

The bonfire began to glow and pop and sizzle, signaling that someone was about to come through. The Emerald Herald could barely muster up the effort to look up and greet the arrival. But her eyes widened as the shape that emerged was very familiar to her.

Limping from the bonfire's flames was Erik Potts, a sigh on his lips as he massaged his waist and wrists and muttered about an 'insatiable crazy woman.'

His complaints died as he looked over and saw the Emerald Herald staring at him in shock.

"Oh. Hello. I'm back at last. Sorry for the trouble and the wait," the chef said with a cheeky grin and a wave towards the last Fire Keeper.

"You're here. You're back," Shanalotte muttered, unable to believe her eyes. She rose and took a trembling step forward as if moving too fast would cause Erik to vanish.

The Undead in question just continued to give his goofy grin. At that, something snapped inside her. She lunged at the cook and tackled him with a crushing hug.

"You damn fool. I was worried about you."

"Oh, really? I didn't know I'd made such an impression on you," Erik said, scratching the back of his head while his face turned pink. He could feel her deceptively ample assets pressing against his chest yet he slowly returned her embrace.

"I'm back. Sorry for making you worry."

All across Majula a ripple slowly spread out as people began to register the chef's return. Chloanne burst out of the blacksmith's hut and joined in on the tackle-hug, aiming for his back.

Cries of joy and welcoming rang out as people rushed to greet the man who'd touched their lives. Vengarl and Saulden both rose from where they'd sat at the same time before sharing an embarrassed look and sitting back down. Showing affection was not something they could ever admit to doing. Especially not in front of witnesses!

Maughlin and Lenigrast greeted the young Undead with sales pitches, which earned them both smacks on the back of their heads from Chloanne. Licia stared out from the entrance to the depths with a smile and a wave, unwilling to get mixed up in a crowd. She'd say hello later, when there were fewer people.

The loner group of Magerold, Gilligan, and Kale just looked on as well, but were content to let the good mood infect them and smile a bit.

Carhillion just looked excited to have someone new to talk to about Sorcery. His eyes widened however when he saw the sword and crown in the Undead's possession.

"Boy! Is that the legendary Ivory Crown and Blade of Eleum Loyce?" He cried in shock, pointing at the items in question.

Everyone's gazes turned to his belt where the artifacts hung, and Erik coughed awkwardly.

"Yes. Yes they are."

"It seems you have a story to tell," Shalquoir said as she sauntered over and rubbed against his legs.

"I suppose I do. It all started when I was thrown out of the bonfire and landed in a snow drift…"


	39. Chapter 39: Back Home and Rotten

_**Chapter 39: Back Home and Rotten**_

"…then, after sealing the Bed of Chaos I spent a bit of time recovering before heading back here. And that's pretty much it." Erik tactfully left out what happened between him and Mytha. He was glad that his soreness was mistaken as the after effects of fighting the Ivory King and his legion.

"If it wasn't you telling that, I wouldn't believe a word," Carhillion admitted, a round of nods of agreement echoing his words. "However you've consistently done impossible things so I cannot dismiss it out of hand."

"Glad to hear it," Erik deadpanned.

At the moment he was sitting on the Emerald Herald's boulder, the Fire Keeper in question perched on the edge of it as well next to him with Chloanne on the other side of the chef. Both had listened with rapt attention for the tale that had been told, though Shanalotte had been able to control her face to avoid looking as if she was too interested in Erik's words.

As for the rest, they'd either plopped down on the ground, leaned against the other boulders, or stood as they listened.

"At least he died in battle. That is how he would have wanted it," Vengarl sighed. He had approached during the tale when mention of the Ivory King carried over to him. Everyone had been surprised to hear that Vengarl had not only known the man who'd become the Ivory King, but grown up with him in Forossa and been blood-brothers!

Ivar, the White Knight of Forossa, later the first and last king of Eleum Loyce. Vengarl, the Crimson Terror of Forossa. Both born mere weeks after the kingdom fell for unknown reasons, the two had grown up together as soldiers of fortune amidst mercenaries, fighting, killing, and bleeding. By the time they were adults their names were famous.

And so they'd traveled the world together, plying their skills. Eventually they'd arrived in Drangleic and gone their separate ways, but neither forgot the other.

Hearing Erik speak of his old friend and his sacrifice brought tears to Vengarl, though he hid them well. The towering, red armored man had smiled with relief when he heard that Aava, Lud, and Zallen were alright.

"So, now that I've spilled my guts, how have things been since I've been gone?" The chef inquired, smiling happily at the people around him.

"Not much. I've been working with Maughlin on some new armor," Chloanne announced proudly. "I went back to the places we were together and collected a large amount of supplies. You'll be amazed when you see what we managed to put together! Moggy is very talented!"

The armorer from Volgen blushed a fiery crimson as the nickname the ore trader had given him, looking away as chuckles greeted him.

"I don't doubt it. I cannot wait to see what you've made," Erik praised, eagerly leaning forward. He could use some new armor. His hardened leather outfit had seen better days.

"I've made some good progress on the enchanted navigation device," Carhillion stated matter of factly. "It uses Astromancer techniques which are fascinating in of themselves."

"Lady Licia and I have repelled the Red Phantoms at least once a week," Saulden announced. "The Huntsman's Copse is overflowing with the Brotherhood of Blood, and the Blue Sentinels have their hands full dealing with them in other places."

Erik winced at that. He had a feeling he was the reason the disciples of Nahr Alma were trying to invade Majula.

"Not much else to say, really. Gilligan has been out of the way, Magerold has become friends with Kale, and the area is nice and peaceful," Melentia said from where she was sitting on the ground.

"Yes, aside from the occasional traveler we've been a fairly boring town," Shalquoir claimed, curled up in Shanalotte's lap.

"That's good! Oh, I forgot to mention, Mytha and the others will be coming here soon," Erik said, causing everyone to turn to him in surprise.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It means what it means. Apparently there's a sibling of Nadalia and Alsanna down in Shulva and they want to make sure she is alright."

Erik had not spared many details about his travels. The Daughters of Dark were a mystery and a half, and he'd felt it was important to tell the people around him some of what they were. Not that he really understood fully what they were.

"And how do they plan to get to Shulva? That city sunk beneath the earth millennia ago. Any entrances would have been sealed or discovered ages past," Shanalotte argued.

"No, apparently there is a way. You see, they built these devices that can teleport a person from place to place, sort of like a bonfire. According to them there is one such object hidden near Majula that should take them to Shulva."

"There is? Where is it?" Chloanne asked curiously. She remembered the odd totem well and was curious as to what materials it was made of.

"They didn't say… something about a sewer, though…"

"What does this artifact look like?" Saulden spoke up, something glinting in his eye.

"Three headless serpents wrapped around a bowl-like altar," Erik said. At that the knight sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face.

"If that is the case I know where it is." Everyone turned in surprise towards the ancient warrior who gave an even deeper sigh.

"I saw something like that when I was pursuing the Great Souls," Saulden admitted. "It lay in a place I'd rather never travel to again."

"You were a Monarch Candidate?" Erik asked in awe, before shaking his head and focusing on the more important part. "Where was the altar?"

"Deep below the Gutter, being guarded by one of the bearers of the Great Souls," Saulden revealed, and gasps ran through the group.

The Gutter was an infamous place in Drangleic's history. In the final days of Heide there was a tremendous plague that nearly wiped out the population of the continent. It was also the time of the tale of Knight Alva who sought a cure for a Saintess. What was less spoken of in that legend was the fact that those who were touched by the plague were tossed into a deep underground cavern system. Some of the dead rose as early Hollows, and in the end the disaster was what drove the penultimate nail into Heide's coffin. When Shulva sank, the funeral dirge resounded.

"You're saying I have to dive down into the Gutter to reach the last of these souls?" Erik asked with a green tinge on his face. Saulden just nodded sadly, wretched memories rising to his own thoughts.

"Well, where is the entrance to it?"

Saulden just pointed at the gaping pit in the middle of Majula. Everyone's gaze drifted to it, disgust clear in their eyes.

"You mean… this whole time…" Chloanne gagged, unable to finish her sentence. A nod from the knight made everyone shiver in revulsion.

"So, how should I get down there?" Erik asked, swallowing down his bile.

"I used a rope. Lots of it, in fact. The hole is deep, and a misstep will splatter you on the bottom."

"I see…"

"Now, why use a silly rope when you can have a ladder?" Now their gazes turned to Gilligan who was approaching with a bit of swagger in his step.

"I'm willing to offer you a deal on a nice big ladder to get you down to the Gutter," the burly man announced, smiling a smarmy business smile. "Reasonable prices."

Chloanne gritted her teeth and balled her fists while Lenigrast rolled his eyes in contempt. Even Maughlin showed his utter lack of respect by muttering insults under his breath.

"There's no need. We will escort the boy." Everyone went stiff as a voice washed over them. The tone was calm and collected, but there was a sense of unease in most of the people as they heard the ethereal voice.

In the space near the bonfire cracks appeared in the air, like glass splintering. At once a massive portal tore itself into existence, revealing four people and three giant tigers. Two of the people were tall, one with dark skin and the other in elegant yet corrupted armor. The other two looked like short pale women with long black hair. They wore modest gowns and outfits and looked out at Majula with a calculating eye.

"Oh, you guys are here early," Erik said with a wave, Chloanne joining in as well as she recognized Mytha, Nadalia, and Raime.

"Aava! Lud! Zallen! You three have grown!" Vengarl cried in joy rushing and tackling the trio of massive felines. They fearsome cats quickly turned into playful kittens as they reunited with one of their old comrades. They remembered being saved and raised by him and Ivar and were eager to greet him.

"How did you do that?" Carhillion demanded, staring in awe at that display of immense magic.

"By joining our powers with our siblings we can use spells beyond what we normally could. This dimensional rift would be impossible with just one of us. It still needs a catalyst though, and bonfires are excellent trans-dimensional platforms," Nadalia explained as Alsanna, the Embodiment of Fear, hid behind her sister.

"And hello, Erik. I see you returned to Majula without issue."

"Hello, Nadalia. So, you knew that the altar was in the Gutter?"

"Apologies for keeping it from you." Nadalia was acting oddly stiff, not at all like Erik remembered. He then realized she was nervous in front of so many people. Well, more people than she'd likely seen in centuries at least.

"You plan to accompany Erik into the Gutter and the Black Gulch?" Shanalotte inquired, raising an eyebrow. She knew more of the nature of the Children of Dark than the others, but this was the first time she'd met any of them. It was odd, feeling the pressure from their immense Humanity filled souls press down on her. There was also a connection there as well. Bonfires fed on Humanity, and their souls looked tasty…

Erik tapped her on the shoulder, startling her from her reveries. She gave a haughty look crossed with minute embarrassment at the chef who just smiled.

Shanalotte narrowed her eyes at him. He had been strange ever since he had returned. Stealing glances at her, watching her actions… Not lustfully though. There was a strange sense of sorrow and pity and remorse in those green orbs of his.

The Emerald Herald shook it off. This was not the time to wonder about his attitude. Even if the thought of him discovering the truth about her origins as an experiment terrified her for some reason.

'We'll talk later,' he mouthed, and the Last Firekeeper nodded.

Back to the Sisters of Dark, they continued their discussion about their travel plans.

"We do plan of entering the Gutter along with the boy. At least, Alsanna and I will. Mytha has agreed to wait in Majula." That got some more raised eyebrows. From what Erik and Chloanne knew of the woman from Jugo that had probably been a hard fought argument.

"I'm only staying behind because I have other duties to attend to," the former queen griped, folding her arms. "I want to meet with Carlyle one more time. I cannot abandon him again."

"I understand. Will Raime be joining us?" Erik asked, glancing at the massive dark blue armored knight.

"No. There is something else he must do," Nadalia explained. "I am sending him to Drangleic Castle to observe it. If Nashandra makes a move, I want to be the first to know. I will not let her trample on father's legacy with her mad lust for power."

"Then it will be just me and you two?" Erik inquired.

"And me!"

Again, eyes darted into the distance, near the entrance to the town. Before them Benhart could be seen, power walking towards his returned comrade. His giant glowing sword was slung over his shoulder along with a familiar Bottomless Box.

"I promised to follow you, and I don't plan on going back on my words," the knight announced, stepping up to Erik. He then turned a surprised look to Mytha before bowing.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Aunt Mytha."

"What?" Mytha demanded, taken aback. She leaned closer, peering at the knight before eyes widened in surprise. "Are you… descended from Little Remy?"

"Yes, my ancestor was your younger brother, Prince, and then King, Remari III. It is an honor to meet you."

"I see." A strange smile filled Mytha's face. She still had family. She wasn't alone anymore!

"Now that we've all reunited, I suggest we make haste," Nadalia uttered, leading Erik and his newly returned friend towards the pit. "Nashandra is no fool, and will know something is up after sensing that massive rush of power in the North. She knew Eleum Loyce housed Alsanna, and I fear she may be on the lookout for her."

"Alright then. So, how are we going to do this?" Erik asked. Behind her hair-veil a smirk crept up her lips and she patted the chef's back, coating him a bubble of dark blue Sorcery. She then did the same to Benhart while her sister covered herself in the glow.

"This is an improved Fall Control, which will carry you safely into the depths of the Gutter."

"Um…"

"Well, get to it!" With that, Nadalia slapped Erik's back and sent him toppling down into the pit, a girlish scream fading as he fell. She then turned to Benhart who decided to jump in on his own power and not get pushed.

"Ah, that was fun! Come on sis, let's do this!" Nadalia said, grabbing Alsanna who squeaked in surprise as she was dragged over the edge.

"Well, that was weird," Vengarl said in an utterly deadpan tone, before turning back to the giant tigers and continuing to play with them.

As for Shanalotte, she was massaging her temples trying to stave off an Erik-induced headache.

"Hey, Chloanne. Guess what Erik did to defeat the Ivory King?" Mytha said, leaning in to her gal pal. The ore trader, and against her better judgement the Emerald Herald, turned to listen to the queen's gossip.

\ \ ~ / /

.

Erik's screams bounced and echoed along the walls of the pit as he fell. By sheer luck or incredibly good planning he missed each of the wooden platforms as he descended. His speed wasn't too extreme, but it was very uncomfortable falling face down into an impossibly deep and dark pit.

Above him slightly he could hear Benhart and the Sisters plunging along with him. They zoomed down past wooden scaffolds, ledges, and more, never stopping.

After a long while Erik emerged from the pit and was in a sprawling, cavernous area. He could not see the walls or floors, save for a few wooden structures that stood upon towering stilts above an oozing sea of sludge and filth.

Tiny dots of flames wavered around below, held by Hollows or braziers. It was hard to imagine anything could have thrived in the darkness, even Undead.

"Welcome to the Gutter, home of countless sad souls murdered by an uncaring and cruel god."

Erik glanced over to see Nadalia falling beside him. At some point she had caught up. He was more surprised that he could actually hear her over the rushing wind that they created as they dropped.

"Galib, correct? I heard from a crow-woman that he had been cursed for that by turning into a giant rat."

"You heard correctly. Though the fact that you met one of the Darksun's servants is more surprising to me," Nadalia said. She raised a hand and she and Erik angled a bit, their speed decreasing rapidly and soon they landed on a tall, wooden building that was free of Hollows. Alsanna and Benhart landed next to them moments later.

"Dark…sun?" Erik mumbled, wincing as something throbbed inside his soul. Not just his own, but the King, Witch, and Dragon souls reacted as well. They knew that name, somehow.

"Yes, an old being who has survived since the First Flame," Nadalia explained, not noticing Erik's odd reaction. "We have an… understanding of sorts. As long as we do not interfere with the Cycle or the First Flame we are left alone. Of course, now that Nashandra has tried to create a way to control the First Flame I don't know how much longer we'll have before the Darkmoon Blades come for her, and us by extension."

"That is why we must hurry to Elana. She is the strongest of all of us in terms of raw power. The Darksun will hesitate before moving against her and us together," Alsanna continued.

"Got it. So, where to go to get to the soul and the altar," Erik asked as he tried to breathe through his mouth. Countless years of dumping waste had given the underground realm an impossibly foul stench. Erik could feel it literally causing his skin to burn in irritation.

"Below us. We landed on the scaffold that leads down to the entrance of the Black Gulch. That is where the Great Soul resides and where the altar was hidden," Nadalia explained, pointing to a rickety ladder.

With a weary sigh Erik and Benhart descended down into the depths, each creak and groan of ancient timber and rotted wood making them flinch. The Dark Sisters paid no attention to it, and just leapt gracefully off the tower to the ground below, letting their powers control their descent.

At the bottom Erik and the crew encountered a few semi-naked Hollows running around. They were dealt with easily, and there was a sense of disappointment in the knight from Jugo as the pathetic state of the foes.

"This was easy," Erik said, surprised at the ease with which they'd made their way deep into the earth. There were no more Hollows, but now a sickly green light began to spill out from below. Following it, the gang ended up stepping into a bizarre region.

Dozens of grey statues of a cowled maiden littered the area, though they were covered in luminous green sludge. This ooze lit up the whole area, providing the only sources of light in the entire region.

"Here we are, the Black Gulch. Tread carefully as that pretty green stuff? Insanely toxic. Strong enough to affect an Undead."

"Got it Nadalia. Should we rest at that bonfire for a bit?" Erik suggested, jabbing his thumb at the short tunnel that ran nearby and led to one of those mythical piles of burning bones.

"Why not." With that the group made their way to the pulsing flames and let them soothe them. However the Sisters kept their distance, the light of the bonfire making them uncomfortable.

"Done?" Nadalia asked and Erik nodded, strapping his Bottomless Box onto his back. Benhart stood as well, adjusting his sword.

"So what sort of foes should we expect down here?"

"Bugs and maybe some Hollows. This area is fairly tame compared to the other areas you've been to," Alsanna said softly. "The real danger lies in actually getting here."

"Fair enough," Erik said and the team walked out. Two holes along the wall suddenly burst out with a pair of giant thrashing centipede-like worms.

"By the gods! Are those Carrion Worms?! Those are huge!" Benhart exclaimed as the massive insects snapped at them.

"Erik, those things are weak against fire. Burn them," Nadalia said coldly. The chef nodded and conjured up a Fireball, tossing it at the first of the monsters. It burned the creatures hide and it retreated into its hole with a screech. Another burst of flames drove off the second of them, and the group advanced. Carefully though.

There progressed was halted by a collection of oozing black pools of liquid. It was strange, as they were radiating a faint ozone tang. There was magic in the air. It made the Sisters stiffen in shock and peer at the liquid with surprise.

"Erik, Benhart, stay back!" Nadalia warned. "That is raw essence of Dark! But, that shouldn't be possible!"

As she spoke one of the pools erupted and a disturbing monster lunged at the Undead. It looked like a giant massive hand crawling along on deformed legs and both Erik and Benhart let out screams of terror.

With a panicked roar Benhart unleashed the Sorcery contained in his blade and split the creature in half with a shockwave of energy. It melted into a puddle of sludge. The monster reminded Erik of those long armed beasts from the Wharf.

"This should not be possible… the Darkness couldn't have spilled out this much…" Nadalia worried, pacing a bit.

"Sister, what about the Shadow Altars? If I recall one of those was around here. If something disturbed it then it is possible the Dark leaked out," Alsanna suggested.

"What is going on?" Erik demanded. The sisters shared a look before turning to the Undead.

"Those things were Hollows completely submerged in the powers of Darkness. Normally the Abyss from whence the taint came is contained and kept sealed by a series of artifacts. But it appears that they were interfered with and now the energy we've kept hidden is leaking out into the world. Forgive us, but we must go check on the Shadow Altar to make sure it is still intact. Go one without us. We'll meet up with you after you obtain the Soul you need. After that we'll continue on to Shulva."

"Fine then. I suppose there's nothing else to be done," Erik griped. "We'll meet up later. Let's go Benhart. I want to get out of here as quickly as we can. I dislike being underground."

The party separated, the Undead running down to a far off fog gate while dodging more hand-monsters. As for the Sisters they just jumped off a ledge and plunged into the depths of the cavern.

"So, you don't like being below the earth?" Benhart asked as they reached the boss's domain.

"No. It reminds me too much of the crypts in the Lightning Palace. Those places terrified me as a boy. Especially after I got locked down there one time. I've never really gotten over that trauma. Not to mention I've been having bad experiences with cramped, dark places ever since I arrived in Drangleic," Erik admitted.

"Hmm. Well, shall we see what lies beyond?" The knight stepped up to swirling mist and slipped through, the chef following closely behind.

An overpower stench slammed into Erik as he entered the sealed off region. In front of him were lakes of burning oil that cast dancing shadows everywhere.

But worst of all was a seething lump rotting flesh and flailing limbs. Dozens of Hollows had been crammed together to create a disgusting facsimile of a humanoid being. It all moved with one will, twisted into a single bloated monstrosity.

It was trying to fix some of the statues that littered the area. With a groan it placed a broken off head onto a bust, but it refused to stick. As the head tumbled off, the abomination roared in fury, before it sensed the intruders.

Bloodlust filled the area and the mashed up monster turned to face the Undead. Erik winced as his vision went red, and his souls clamored inside him.

"What should we do?" Benhart asked, griping his sword in both hands.

"Circle around and keep your distance. Just rain Sorcery bursts onto it. I'll do the same but with fire and ice. I don't want to get close to that thing if we can help it," Erik instructed. The knight from Jugo nodded in agreement and raised his sword above his head, bring it down with a cry and a rippling wave of cutting magic.

The attack slammed into the abomination, and severed its arm. However, arms shot from the stump and grasped onto the removed limb, dragging it back to the main body and reattaching it with sickening squelches.

"Ok, that's gross," Erik groaned. He raised his left hand and sent Fireballs and Ice Spikes into the mass of Hollows. Those attacks did some damage, but the rotten flesh quickly knitted back together.

"Benhart, lure that creature into the burning oil! If we keep it in there we should be able to burn it down so the regeneration cannot work!" Erik said, trying to push the monster into the flaming ditches.

"Alright, got it!" Benhart unleashed wave after wave of crushing Sorcery upon the abomination as Erik used his Pyromancy to drive the beast back. It worked slowly. For all its mass, the twisted pile of limbs and corpses was weak and easily herded into the largest of the blazing ditches.

It screeched and staggered. Erik's plan was working, but the monster had far too much vitality. Its regeneration was fast and was able to keep up with the fires that crawled up it. Still, with the constant barrage of magic It slowly began to collapse, the bodies falling apart and thus the rest of the body.

With a groan the Rotten collapsed, spilling into a pile of burning corpses and offal.

"Did we do it?" Benhart asked. With a scream the corpses shot up, reforming among the flames.

"Nope," Erik sighed. He was annoyed. This thing was hardly a challenge and except for its healing factor was fairly weak. He just continued to throw Pyromancy onto the Rotten, and Benhart swung his blade.

It took thirty minutes of constant attacking before the monster finally succumbed. A gush of souls filled them, and two giant gold and orange souls popped up in front of Erik. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the souls enter him and the memories embrace him.

Suffering. Pain and agony. There was nothing. No light. No peace. Surrounded by corpses of friends and family. Crying. Screaming. But there was suddenly a blinding presence.

A woman. Beautiful despite the decay and filth. Her soul was pure white. An impossible existence. Yet she existed. Pure. Holy. Caring. Loving.

She stepped over the carpet of corpses. Her flesh was ravaged by the disease that also were also inflicted with. Yet she smiled. And smiled. And never forsook them.

In honor they made monuments to her. Statues and carvings. They were her slaves. Her disciples. She was a saint. A goddess.

She spoke of a man. A knight. She waited for him. She knew he would return one day. But he never came. The sickness claimed her. In sorrow they surrounded her. Kept her close. Weeping. Praying for her.

The many became one to guard her tomb forever. They refused to leave her. Her soul became theirs. All became one.

The disjointed memories of hundreds of people faded, leaving Erik with a headache. Then the second set of past lives filled him.

A towering mound of bones and souls knelt before an impossibly vast fire of golden hue. It took a dancing ember into its skeletal palm before turning to where Erik's perspective looked on.

 ** _Hello, young one._**

Wait, what?

 ** _Ah, apologies. This is probably a surprise. None of the other souls were able to communicate with you like this._** The skull-man bobbed politely. It slid over to Erik.

 ** _You may call me Nito, first of the dead. I was one of the four who claimed the original Lord Souls. In my dominion over death I have a chance to help you. I do not have long to speak, so let me give you some advice._**

It coughed, an odd dry clicking sound, before placing a hand on Erik's shoulder. The chef shuddered at the touch but continued to look up at his visitor.

 ** _In the great crypts below the Castle of Vendrick, tell my sons and daughters the time has come to open the first coffin. You'll recognize them by the name they carry. Then, you must find the Thrice Born Witch. She is the key to the Throne and the Fire. And last but not least, gather the crowns and the souls. When you do, the truth will be found._**

Um… what is going on?

 ** _Goodbye, Erik Potts. I am glad to see you again, and under much better circumstances. Be safe._**

Erik was forcibly shot out of the memories and fell to his knees. Vertigo flooded his mind and he grunted in pain and annoyance.

"What the hell was that?" He murmured.

"Are you alright Erik?" He looked up to see Benhart and the Sisters looking down at him with concern.

"Yeah, just… confused." He sighed and stood up. "Let's just go to Shulva already."


	40. Chapter 40:Sunken City and Dragon

Chapter 40: Sunken City and Dragon

"So Nito truly spoke with you?" Alsanna inquired, fascinated by Erik's words. The chef nodded stiffly.

"Yeah. His words were vague though. Yet I feel as if I know who this 'Thrice Born Witch' is. Strange. Anyways, how was your side trip? Find what you needed?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Some group of blithering idiots broke the Shadow Altar's seal and tried to get into the Abyss!" Nadalia groaned, her complaints echoing off the walls.

"With Barnabas we were able to drive off the interlopers and fix the seal, but he claims that other Altars were damaged and this cult is tenacious, if nothing else."

"It still amazes me that the legendary Darklurker is your brother. But at the same time it makes so much sense," Benhart said.

"Are you ready?" Nadalia asked after a moment. They group was now in front of the collection of inscribed Titanite slabs and the snake-altar that was almost identical to the ones from below Alken.

"Yes. Let's go," Erik griped, shifting from foot to foot.

"Are you sure?"

"I do not like being underground," Erik hissed and Nadalia raised her hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine! Let's do this then."

Approaching the bizarre artifact had caused deep purple flames to burst to life inside the depths of the bowl, yet instead of heat a sapping chill filled the area.

"That's new. I don't remember the other idols freezing the area," Erik noted, while the Sisters frowned.

"These Warp Altars are connected to us in a way. If this is the result of Elana's than I fear for her sanity and safety," Alsanna said softly, a note of worry in her voice.

"We have no time to lose. Quick, let us go!" Nadalia cried, and held out her hands. The flames from the bowl spilled out and engulfed the quartet, and with a sadly familiar lurching sensation they were ripped through time and space.

After feeling like they had fallen and flown at the same time the group was spat out inside a circular room, the bowl-altar surrounded by a ring of those memorable humanoid tombstone. The door at the end of the room was made of black iron and petrified wood, though it still showed the same three figures on the door as the one in Brume Tower. Beast, Lord, and Mage.

"Those symbols are an old representation of three of the four bearers of the first Lord Souls," Nadalia explained as they approached.

"The beast represented Nito, First of the Dead who held the Soul of Death, as corpses were forbidden from being displayed in artwork depicting the gods. The lord is Gwyn, King of Sunlight, who reigned over the Soul of Light and sundered the Ancient Stone Dragons. And lastly, the Witch of Izalith, the grandmother of Pyromancy, wielder of the Soul of Life, and eventually the Mother of Demons and Chaos."

The souls of King, Witch, and Nito inside Erik throbbed in pleasure at being remembered while the Dragon scoffed.

"Amazing…" Benhart whispered, awed at seeing the ancient depictions of such powerful beings. The first gods were less than a myth, forgotten by the world.

"But what of your father?" Erik asked, turning to the pair of sisters. "Wasn't he also one who claimed a Lord Soul?"

"Our father, Manus, was indeed the bearer of a soul," Nadalia admitted. "And it was his powers that allowed mankind to return to some semblance of life. His moniker of 'Primeval Man' is true, after all. He willingly sacrificed his own god-like powers to restore Humanity to the world."

"He slumbered after that, drained. He was never interested in ruling, either, and left that up to his fellow Lord Soul bearers. But greedy men woke him and tried to steal his powers, even though he had little left to give. The actions of the ancient fools of Oolacile caused the fragment of the Dark Soul he retained to run rampant and gave birth to the Abyss, much in the same way that the Witch of Izalith birthed Chaos."

"So, how were you born, then?" Erik asked, curious.

"An impossible love. In his madness, only one being dared to show him compassion and soothe his sick, broken soul. Dusk, princess of Oolacile," Alsanna said, before she bowed her head respectfully at the name.

"The exact nature of our birth is a shameful one, but like many things, we once had a human origin. To be precise, we had a human mother who bore quintets conceived from a sorrowful union." Alsanna's voice faltered and she looked down at the floor in shame.

"Manus, our father, kidnapped and violated the one person who showed him kindness," Nadalia spat, causing her Undead companions to tremble. "And yet somehow she still forgave him and willingly carried his children. But the power of the Abyss rotted her from the inside out. Princess Dusk gave birth to five stillborn children, four girls and a single boy, and then died."

"From the corpses of that union we rose. Wrath, Fear, Loneliness, Want, and Duty. We embody Manus' splintered, ruined existence while also representing the final spark of Love he ever knew."

"It was many years before we fully formed coherent thoughts and developed souls of our own. One cannot fully explain us, for we are impossible existences."

Silence filled the chamber, before Alsanna waved her hand in front of the ignored gate and the doors creaked open at her command. A wet stink filled their nostrils, which was a nice change from the wretched scent from the Black Gulch. It was still odd though, a mix of mold and salt water that suffused the air.

"We need to go. There is much to do." Everyone nodded at Alsanna's words and the group proceeded forward.

The corridor beyond was ruined, twisted and buckled walls leading into the darkness. It was unsettling as the shadows seemed to wriggle when the Sisters of Dark approached.

"This area used to belong to the noble's compound," Nadalia said, a frown on her face. "I am honestly surprised to see so much of it still intact. Elana must have used a lot of power to try and keep the city afloat as long as possible."

"Come on, let's get moving," Erik suggested, hurrying down the halls. His unease at being in such a place was growing. He did not want to stay underground any longer.

Benhart shared a look with the Sisters before shrugging and following after the man he'd sworn to serve. It was slightly amusing to see the normally upbeat young man acting afraid of something so mundane as the underground.

The path turned from ruined building interior to rough, raw stone. It twisted and turned, a few extremely rotted remains and skeletons littered a few of the areas. It was all very disturbing, and did not make Erik's nerves any less frayed.

After a few minutes though the group emerged from the depths of the cramped tunnel and into an impossibly wide and cavernous space. What was even more impossible were the numerous intact structures that littered the area.

"The royal complex and the religious domain… they're still standing!" Nadalia exclaimed, staring out at the surprisingly preserved remains of Shulva.

"Amazing! Elana's powers protected the city to this extent! I don't believe it!" Alsanna praised.

Wow," was all Erik could say, his fears overwhelmed by awe at the sight of this legendary city. Benhart was in a similar state and he bowed his head slightly in reverence.

"Come, I think we can make our way across this way," Erik said, noticing a bonfire's glow in the distance. With a happy smile he all but skipped down the narrow ledge towards that most precious of healing spots.

"ERIK! Get down!" Alsanna screamed, and the chef blinked before he was thrown to the ground by a sudden gust of wind.

"What the hell?!" He cried, staring up at what had thrown him to the ground.

It was a dragon. An honest to gods' dragon! Its body was covered in stony scales while a massive lance pierced its chest. It glared balefully down at the Undead and the Children of Dark and snorted, spewing flames into the air before rising and darted off deeper into the ruined city.

"No… Sinh has awoken?" Nadalia whispered, terrified. Alsanna was shivering in fear, clutching the hem of her sister's dress as a pitiable whimper escaped her.

"Was that an actual dragon?" Benhart gasped in shock.

"One of the last of them. Only a handful of the most powerful escaped the purge committed by Gwyn. They remained hidden, only appearing once in a while to ravage the land in vengeance. Sinh appeared in the last Cycle, close to the end, but was defeated and sealed by the one who… well, who was the previous Monarch Candidate," Nadalia revealed, catching herself at the last minute with a glance at the still prone Erik.

The chef's Lord Souls were screaming at him, demanding the death of the dragon and he could hear nothing else.

Erik shook his head, clearing their influence from his mind. He was stunned and afraid of the sheer primal power that dragon had radiated, and was trying to recollect his nerves.

"So, what do we do?" Erik asked with a sigh as he stood back up and dusted his pants off.

"We definitely need to find Elana now. She was the one keeping Sinh asleep. She'll have a way to deal with him."

"Alright, where would she be?"

"Deeper in the city, likely near the center. That is where her residence stood."

"What exactly was her position in the city? A High Priestess like Alsanna?" Erik inquired as the group walked on, slashing apart the corroded Hollows stained with poison as they appeared.

"No, she was the ruler. Her rank was queen, which fit well with her moniker," Alsanna said softly, trailing behind the two male Undead as they cleared the path.

"Ol' Elly's nickname was 'The Squalid Queen.' Not the kindest, and she despised it. She envisioned herself as a warrior-maiden of sorts and being known as 'squalid' really insulted her," Nadalia explained when the chef and knight gave her a confused look.

"So, who was the king?" Benhart asked, sending a pulsing blue shockwave at a pair of archers, sending them toppling to their deaths. Erik then activated the various platforms the Sisters pointed out and they hopped around into the ruins.

"He was a brave knight, the person who vanquished Sinh, and the only man she ever truly loved," Nadalia said, eyes downcast as bitter memories resurfaced.

"Elana was born of our father's Wrath, like I am his Loneliness and Alsanna his Fear. This meant that she not only has a vicious temper but she drives those around her into a berserker state. She could not be near people lest they go mad and start trying to kill her and each other."

"That's awful!" Erik said, Benhart nodding in sympathy.

"In order to control her rage she traveled the world acting like an angel of vengeance, battling monsters and cruel despots. Never in one place for very long. But during the last Cycle she met an Undead knight. She never told us how exactly it happened, but she fell in love with him, and he with her. And somehow his soul was strong enough to resist her natural powers."

"A beautiful story. But from the mood around you two it does not end happily," Benhart guessed and the Sisters nodded.

"Shulva fell when Sinh awoke, and the lovers were scattered. Elana forced her husband to flee while she stayed behind to keep the dragon sealed."

"Wait, I thought her husband was from the last time the First Flame dimmed. How was he still alive if the Curse was broken?"

Realizing they'd spoken too much the pair of Dark Children clammed up, falling silent and refusing to talk. The chef groaned in annoyance. Great, yet more secrets!

It was a long, and morbidly silent trip through Shulva after that. Neither sister spoke up much except to give directions or warnings, and with only Hollows and strange insects it was hardly filled with the most stimulating battles.

The hardest part was progressing over the crumbling walkways and paths of the legendary Sanctum City. One misstep led to a painful death at the bottom of a ravine, and Erik had already fallen to his death once in his adventure and had no interest in going through that again. As such his steps were slow but sure.

The only exciting things that happened was that Sinh returned when they were trying to cross a bridge towards the central region where the palace resided. The dragon spat gouts of flames in an attempt to burn away the quartet but only managed to incinerate a group of Hollows who tried to block their path.

"For an ancient beast of terror it has incredibly bad aim," Erik mused while panting under the cover of the balcony on the other side of the bridge.

"It's probably sleepy from being woken up," Nadalia argued as Alsanna waved her hand again to force the lowered portal to rise.

"So, should we be worried about it coming back?" Benhart inquired, panting the heaviest of the team. Sprinting in heavy armor was not a great way to travel.

"Once we get inside the palace we should be safe. I can still feel Elana's powers lingering inside, so it should be enough to repel Sinh. For now."

"How optimistic, Nadalia. You're a real bundle of joy," Erik snarked, causing Alsanna to giggle and Benhart to chuckle. The Embodiment of Loneliness huffed a bit before joining in on the laughter.

After restoring their spirits the group descended into the depths of the ruined palace, pushing back Undead, both Hollows and terrifying ghosts. The latter was easily vanquished as their existence was sustained by some form of Dark magic and Nadalia and Alsanna dispelled it, returning them to death.

The strangest part was when Erik stumbled across an odd onion shaped helmet.

"What on Drangleic is a knight's helm from Catarina doing here?" The Lindelt native inquired, showing it off to the group.

"The kingdom of Onion Knights is the oldest in the world. It has existed since the days of the First Flame. It's no surprise that some of their relics are scattered about everywhere."

"How have they endured for so long?" Erik asked. He'd known Catarina was old, ancient even, and remained as one of the most influential nations in the world, but to hear it was older than even these two women? That was insane!

"No idea. It's one of the few things we don't know and no one ever may figure out," Nadalia admitted, her sister bobbing her head in agreement.

Erik and Benhart sweat dropped before the chef shrugged and stuffed the surprisingly pristine helmet into his Bottomless Box as a souvenir.

He would never admit it, but he had once dreamed of owning an entire set of the famous 'Onion Armor.' As had his father, and his grandfather… Erik blinked. Maybe it was a chef thing to want to wear food themed armor.

Deeper they went into the palace, before running into a creepy sorceress who hurled orbs of black magic at them. She was standing in front of a round door that rotated with a switch on the floor. After bringing her and the swarm of Hollows down and moving through narrow corridors with yet more foes and a most painful spike trap, a floor covered in spikes, and a room full of Dark corrupted corpses, the team found themselves in a deep pit patrolled by hideous deformed lizard-tadpole monsters.

"What is with the size of this place?" Erik gasped. The Dragon Sanctum was many times larger than the Lightning Palace and they'd gotten lost several times.

"When we find Elana, we can ask her. Seriously, was there really a need for this much space?" Nadalia griped.

"Where are we now?" Benhart asked, looking around at the area they now were in.

"I'm not sure. I think this is a natural cave that formed and Elana's palace just sunk into it with the rest of the city," Alsanna mused.

After a bit more they came across yet another palace structure which caused a chorus of groans from the travelers.

"What the fuck Elana?! Who the hell needs so many massive palaces?!" Alsanna screeched, slamming her fist onto the wall and shattering it. Her blow shook something loose somewhere and a bridge began to rise from the water.

"I think your sister has issues other than anger management. This is just… disturbed," Erik muttered as they traveled into the massive building.

"I can feel Elana's soul now. It's closer, but something feels wrong. It's too raw and emotional," Nadalia stated.

"Then let's hurry."

Tramping through yet another impossibly large maze-like building Erik and the rest were at the edges of their nerves upon arriving at Elana's fog gate.

"I am going to pound her into the ground for this whole runaround," Alsanna promised, a scary look in her eyes. Everyone else gave annoyed nods. If nothing else she deserved a beating for the insane layout of her city.

After slipping off his enchanted chest and tucking it into a corner for safe keeping he led the group through the fog gate. They soon found themselves in a wide ceremonial room, with a giant mural of a dragon, and a tall, regal woman with her back to them.

"Huh! Visitors… you are not deserving of the mire…" the woman whispered, turning to them. Erik took a step back in surprise and Benhart winced. Elana looked to have been made of rotten roots and flesh, with a dress growing out of her.

"She's in her true form, that's not good," Nadalia muttered, causing the Undead to stare from her to their opponent, and the Squalid Queen to turn to her sisters and look with glazed eyes that slowly focused.

"Nadalia… Alsanna… What are you doing here?"

"We're here to rescue you. Although it seems we may need to vanquish Sinh first," Alsanna said, raising her hands to her sister in peace. All her rage had fled her upon meeting her sister for the first time in centuries and seeing the state she was in.

"You're too late… where were you when He died… where were you when Shulva perished?! I have endured for an eternity lost and alone! HOW DARE YOU COME BEFORE ME NOW?!" Elana screamed, and a giant gnarled glaive rose from a cloud of black mist into her hands.

"Elana! Please stop this!" Alsanna pleaded.

"Ally, we have to fight her," Nadalia said softly. She then turned to the Undead who had come with them.

"Erik, Benhart, you need to stay back. She is too powerful for you to handle. Let us deal with her," the Embodiment of Loneliness begged.

Before Erik could reply, the mural exploded into a thousand pieces, revealing a massive dragon.

"Sinh!" Everyone scrambled back as blocks of stone crashed around them.

"NO! You will not take anything more from me! Stay away from my sisters!" Elana howled as the gimlet gaze of the survivor of Gwyn's purge turned to the three Children of Dark. Her fury changed targets from her family to the vile beast that had appeared before her. In response Sinh roared an arrogant challenge.

Before their eyes, a dragon raised a claw to do battle with a trio of women, two of whom were mutating and transforming into terrifying mockeries of human form.

"I must be cursed by more than just the Darksign because shit like this just should not happen!" Erik shouted as he ran and cowered behind Benhart without shame.

"I think I have to agree with you, young Erik," Benhart of Jugo said. Still, he raised his sword and prepared for battle. "But where else will I get a chance to battle a real dragon?!"

Erik sighed.

"Yeah, you have a point." He raised his Loyce Straight Sword in his left hand and pushed Cryomancy through it while the sword of Eleum Loyce was gripped in his right. It was time to do his duty. It was time to fight a gods damned monster again!

"Erik! If you are going to fight, operate as support! My sword can heal those it touches!" Alsanna ordered. The former High Priestess of the Frozen North had become a tall woman composed of shadows, a dress made of black mist wrapping around her and as much a part of her body as her flesh, which was now black and fading in and out of tangibility while a series of silk-like shrouds wrapped her up. She was Fear, the Daughter of Darkness who refused to be looked upon.

"Don't bother using your magic, either. Only Lightning can pierce the mystical defenses of a Stone Dragon's scales. Ice and fire will be useless," Nadalia cautioned. In her true form, she resembled one of her Ashen Idols, though much more human than the twisted ones from Brume Tower. A flickering orb of flames was imbedded where her heart would be, and the light spilled out as a cape of ash and soot fluttered in the heat she radiated. She was Loneliness, the Daughter of Darkness who could never know the comfort of others.

Elana offered no response and instead hurled herself at the elder dragon, pummeling it with her glaive while summoning countless skeletons that tried to dogpile the much larger monster.

With a brief nod the other two sisters lunged as well. Alsanna's weapon was a deceptively fragile looking long sword. It was almost a mirror copy of the Blade of Eleum Loyce with its twisted helix shape, but was made of ice. She began to strike at the monster's wings to cripple it, but the membranes were harder than diamonds and only tiny scratches appeared on the surface.

Nadalia's weapon was a large mace crossed with a Cleric's chime. It looked like black iron and had a melted, deformed appearance that promised unpleasant things. With a wave of her weapon black lightning jumped from it and slammed into Sinh's side. That caused a scream to escape the dragon's maw.

As for Benhart, he unleashed waves of Sorcery onto the elder being. Interestingly the dragon carried an amused gleam when it looked at the massive great sword. It seemed it knew just who had been used to make it, though its mood plummeted upon seeing Erik and it growled. There were four souls inside the chef that all dragons despised.

Erik chose to take the advice of his companions and ran around the battlefield healing his allies by striking them with the helix sword. Elana had tried to smack the Undead cook around but when she noticed it was healing and not hurting she let him go about his business. Still, the Squalid Queen had a curious look in her eyes when she observed the weak looking Undead.

No matter how many skeletons were summoned they were ruined in a heartbeat and the Squalid Queen chose not to summon any more. In addition the dragon's claws were sharp enough to rip through solid stone and so in no time flat the room had been expanded greatly by the removal of another wall and a large chunk of the roof. The only benefit the would-be dragon slayers possessed was that by now the membrane in the wings were torn to shreds, making it nigh impossible for it to flying off. That sadly wasn't much help when its body was unimaginable hard, its claws and fangs beyond sharp, and eerie green fiery breath hot enough to melt rocks.

"This isn't working! Its scales are too strong!" Nadalia griped, a frown on her face. Though it was hard to tell in her current form.

"The spear. We need to use the spear," Elana said, pointing at the rusty object impaling the dragon from above. "It was enchanted with Lightning magic long ago, and shouldn't take much to reactivate the old magic inside it!"

"Alright. How?" Alsanna demanded as she dodged a fire blast.

"I have an idea!" Erik declared, and ran over to his Bottomless Box and rummaging around in it before dashing to the ruler of fallen Shulva. "I need you to throw me into the air so I land on his back!"

Elana blinked slowly, staring at the obviously addled Undead. But a nostalgic glimmer enter her eyes and she nodded.

"Stand here," the regent demanded, pointing to the flat of her glaive. Swallowing his nerves Erik stood on the weapon and braced himself for the flight that was about to come. Weapons sheathed and a Radient Lifegem clutched in his teeth, the chef was ready to do something brilliantly mad.

"Launch!" She cried, and with inhuman strength Erik was shot off, making an elegant parabola as he plummeted onto the dragon. Sinh did not notice this until too late, as it had been busy toying with Benhart.

The chef let out a wheezing gasp when he smacked into the rigid scales, scraping his hands when he tried to rise. Up close the scales were like sharkskin, being rugged and jagged to bare flesh.

Inching his way up the dragon's back, Erik grabbed onto the spear haft that jutted through its body and reached with his other into his pouch on his waist and removed a handful of Lightning Urns and Golden Pine Resin.

"Take this!" With a shout, Erik slammed the collection of Lightning enchanted items onto the lance where it connected to the stony skin. The magic sparked brightly and reignited the dormant elements trapped inside the weapon, causing it to all but explode in a torrent of golden energy.

The backlash was so intense Erik was hurled off of the spines to slam heavily into the rubble below.

And yet it worked. There was even more Lightning power rushing through the trapped spear than it had had before, and it was strong enough to burn through Sinh's chest.

When it had been impaled before, the lance had just narrowly missed what passed for a heart in the stone entity. Now, the additional magic exploded outwards, tearing into its chest and ripping open an even great wound.

And yet the ancient creature was still alive. Sinh was thrashing about, the spear just digging in deeper, and it was trying to crawl away to heal.

"Not to today, beast! This is where you die!" With a battle cry, Benhart charged at the limping monster and ran up its tail and back, before jumping into the air by using the spear as a pole. He plunged downwards and drove the Bluemoon Great Sword straight down into Sinh's forehead.

The blade had been forged from the flesh and soul of a fallen Dragon God and infused with the essence of countless reincarnations. It carved through the skull of the dragon and went all the way out the bottom of its lower jaw.

A death rattle escaped its lungs and with a keening wail the monster collapsed, the life disappearing from its eyes. A soul the color of grey stone appeared in the air above Sinh's corpse before floating lazily towards Erik. In contrast to the other times it actually did not enter the chef as the rest had done, instead hovered around nearby. Erik decided to ignore it for now. His ribs and ass hurt like a dragon had fallen on him.

"I-I did. I actually did it. I killed a dragon! I am a true knight!" Benhart exclaimed, cheering in elation.

"Darn kill stealer," Erik joked, wincing at the pain that ran through his body as he tried to rise. To his and everyone else's surprise Elana stepped forward and held out a hand to help up the chef.

"Are you feeling better now, sister?" Alsanna asked, shrinking back down into her human form along with Nadalia. The Squalid Queen nodded, before transforming into a human as well. She looked much like her sisters but was more muscled and her hair was drawn back into braided ponytail.

"I am. I apologize, I was lost in my pain. It had been so long since my beloved died and I spent so long alone keeping Sinh trapped…"

"Hold on, you're saying Fa- I mean, your husband is dead?" Nadalia demanded, stepping forward.

"I thought you would have known. I felt it even down here. Did you not realize? It was about six hundred years ago," Elana said, confused.

"How did your husband live that long? Your sisters said he had been the Monarch Candidate in the last Cycle?" Erik asked.

Elana looked down at the young man in surprise.

"Didn't you know?"

"Know what?" Erik asked, tilting his head in confusion. Nearby the Embodiments of Fear and Loneliness tried to make discreet gestures towards their sister, but the Squalid Queen ignored them.

"My husband, who slew the Demon of the Sky, who threw down the Mad King of the Mire, who forged the Titan's Lance, who vanquished Sinh the Noxious Dragon, who ruled as King of Shulva, was none other than the God of Knights, Faraam."


	41. Chapter 41:Truth of the Flame

_**Chapter 41: Truth of the Flame**_

"What?" Erik could not believe his ear. Her husband had been a god?

"I'm sure you've heard the legends that Shulva was built to worship a dragon that was sealed beneath it. That is a lie. My dear Faraam built this place to imprison him, but also to respect a worthy foe. He was an honorable man, if nothing else," Elana said with a soft sigh.

"But then that bastard Sir Yorgh got it into his head that the dragon was the secret to my husband's Godhood and tried to steal its blood. That idiot staged a coup and tried to remove Faraam's lance from its body to steal the ichor. But a true dragon has no blood, so all his tampering with the seal did was awaken Sinh," Elana growled, her mood turning dark.

"I should have wiped out House Osteria years ago. I'd seen that family's arrogance and lust for power but they were too clever. That arrogant bastard is dead now at least and his wretched family scattered. And my dear Faraam was wounded deeply. I used my magic to teleport him to his old homeland of Forossa so he could heal while I sealed the city and Sinh."

Erik blinked then tried to wrap his mind around all of this. House Osteria had caused the fall of Shulva by awakening an Ancient Stone Dragon? The very people he had worked for and dedicated his life to? They had done all this? And Faraam was her husband? What?

"Sister, he is not meant to know this! Not without the Crowns!" Nadalia shouted, striding over to her older sister. With a contemptuous wave of Elana's hands a crown appeared in her grasp and she all but tossed it at the Undead who fumbled with it before holding it close to his chest.

It was smaller and less ornate than the crowns of Ivory or Iron. In fact, this crown looked more like a traditional crown than the other two. The once bright metal was tarnished and dull but retained a presence of power none the less, and the gems glittered with magical power.

"There, now he has three out of four of them. Oh don't give me that look, I can feel the presence of your own crowns on him as well as the four original Lord Souls. Besides, what good has it done us or the Darksun to keep the truth from the Chosen Undead? Faraam was so furious he tried to kill that hermaphrodite, remember?"

"I do. I also remember him not even coming close to winning," Nadalia sneered. "There's a reason we keep these secrets, Elana! The truth is dangerous! And if we're speaking about people finding out the truth, what about Goln, or Tarmin, or Sedar? What about Gwyn's own son who turned on his father due to this knowledge? How about fucking Aldia? Do you not recall those people who nearly doomed us and the world thanks to what they learned? And one of them is still trying to screw us over! The Mad Duke still lives somehow, despite what Vendrick and the Darksun did to him!"

"I would expect this cowardly behavior from Alsanna, but not you, Nadalia."

"Do not speak of me as if I am not here, Elana!" The High Priestess of Eleum Loyce shouted.

"Then what would you suggest, dear sister? Do we hide the truth and potentially cripple the next set of deities and rulers or do we let them wallow in blissful ignorance and risk letting the First Flame go dimmer with each Cycle?!" Elana retorted. The three sisters had reverted to their true forms during their argument, causing the pair of male Undead to step back in fear and shock.

"Um, you don't have to tell me if it is this big a deal," Erik protested, only for the three Sisters of Dark to focus on him.

The siblings shared a look before sighing and reverting to the human forms.

"Apologies, Erik. We lost ourselves. This is a very touchy subject for us," Alsanna said softly, staring at the floor in shame.

"Then don't tell me anything! Seriously, it's fine!" The chef's protests were heard but ultimately ignored.

"As much as I hate the idea of revealing the whole truth, there might not be any other choice. Never before has the First Flame become so tattered and weak in a Cycle. I fear Elana may have a point. Perhaps if you know about everything you'll be able to help find a better solution," Nadalia said with a sad smile.

"Besides, you're not like the others. Even if we tell you the truth, you'll be able to handle it. I'm sure." With a flick of her wrist Benhart suddenly collapsed. Erik rushed over to the knight's side, and let out a relieved sigh when he saw he was asleep.

"I'll apologize later. We can afford to let you know, but anyone else would be pushing it. He'll be asleep for a bit, and Elana and Alsanna will set up a barrier of Silence just in case." The Embodiment of Loneliness took a deep breath before continuing as her siblings did just that.

"When the First Flame starts to fade, the Curse of the Undead is born. It infects the living, mainly humans, because they are born of Manus's Dark Soul. Our father's soul. I am sure you have questions but for now just listen and we can talk about our family later," Nadalia promised.

"Creating the Undead is an important process in the Flame's lifecycle. Your immortality is a form of pseudo-divinity, and also how mankind was before the First Flame. You become linked to the First Flame through the bonfires, and slowly change in preparation for becoming its next, well, avatar."

"How do you mean?" Erik asked, confused, and Nadalia's stroked her chin.

"Basically, you are to become a God," Nadalia said at last, and the chef's jaw dropped. "Allow me to explain; a God is simply a being who has been given a fragment of the First Flame in place of a soul. An Undead has no true soul anymore. It merely lingers in their body, though they can absorb others for power. Thus, losing one's life and soul and becoming Undead is all to prepare a select few for their ascension to divinity."

"The current pantheon are just a collection of people who were Undead during the last Rekindling Cycle and were elevated for being the most compatible. Not all Undead can become a God, and no Hollow can either. Not all who become Undead do so because they might be worthy as a God. But there are a rare few who can and will become divine. 'Monarch Candidate' is merely the current title given to an Undead who may become the one who links the Fires and becomes the first of the New Gods. The title was the 'Chosen Undead' for the first cycle, and before this one it was something else: 'Undead Champion'. The worthy being is incinerated and remade from the First Flames into a new body, thus resetting the cycle by becoming both fuel for the ascension and the care taker of the world so that in time the next cycle can begin unimpeded."

"You're serious," Erik said, slowly. Nadalia simply nodded.

"Then why wouldn't anyone tell us this?! Why did the Emerald Herald not inform me that this is what was expected of me?!" Erik shouted.

"Would you have believed her if she had?" Alsanna asked, speaking for the first time in a while, and after a moment Erik begrudgingly shook his head.

"I doubt even she fully knows the truth. Or anyone other than a select few gods and my own family. We exist outside of the First Flame's order. We are its Shadow and the Darkness waiting beyond. We have existed for countless eons, and know truths none other may," Alsanna said, continuing some of the explanation.

"When it wanes, we in turn grow in power," Elana grumbled, her perpetual frown becoming sharper. "But when the First Flame is rekindled we become powerless and weak, and so hide ourselves so as not to be hunted down by zealous fools."

"Alright, I understand that. Becoming a god? I can barely believe it. But why hide it? Wouldn't the reward of being a deity attract more potential successors for the First Flame?" Erik inquired.

"Too many cooks spoils the broth. As a chef you should understand, right?" Nadalia's words rang true to Erik's ears. Elana looked surprised that the Candidate this time was not a warrior but she let it go.

"Too many people trying to reach the First Flame would be catastrophic. And if people knew that becoming Undead meant they might achieve godhood countless Doomsday and Murder cults would spring up. That's the origin of Nahr Alma, after all. That kill-happy man started the Brotherhood of Blood in the last Cycle to find worthy people to become Undead and then gods in a new world order. It was sheer bad luck he himself managed to gain deity status when the Flames rekindled," Elana went on.

"So who is this 'Darksun' you keep mentioning. I've also heard that title from a crow-woman by the name of Ornifex." Erik's words made the Squalid Queen grit her teeth.

"The Darksun is the last god from the First Cycle. Born of Gwyn, King of Sunlight, he was the third and youngest child. But he was born under the Sign of the Moon, meaning he should have been born as a she. Things happened, the brat suffered 'treatments' to turn him female, and in the end only he survived out of the entire Pantheon. Turns out all that weird stuff Seathe and his father did to him separated him from the Cycle so when the First Flame faded, he was spared the effects of losing his godhood." There was enmity in Elana's words as she spoke of this being.

"He usurped position as the God of Justice from his aunt, Velka, and now leads her servants the Crow-kin, Pardoners and the elite hunters of sin, the Blades of the Darkmoon. For a long time the brat was psychotic about ensuring the gods were in charge of everything. Anything that threatened their sovereignty or the First Flame was hunted down."

"For our family, being born of Manus was a sin in his eyes and he feared the power of the Abyss might one day swallow up the First Flame. I'll admit, for a while we may have fought him and been enemies. We may have tried to destroy the world a few Cycles ago. Oh don't give me that look, we mellowed out. To an extent, he did as well." Elana rolled her eyes at the look of horror on Erik's face. Try and destroy the world once or thrice and no one seems to forgive you for that!

"Our early days were a dark time for us," Alsanna said with a bit of embarrassment. "We were fractured and still struggling to become whole and develop separate identifies from what our father bestowed on us. The Darksun was a bit of a… well…"

"He was a pansy ass bitch who wanted everything his way," Elana said bluntly, causing Nadalia to snicker and then high-five her Wrathful sibling.

"Preach it, sister! But seriously, he has a real control issue. Though for the past few Cycles he's been content to let things play out without much interference."

"And what about the person who was the first person to rekindle the Flame? This 'Chosen Undead?'" Erik asked, his soul tingling at the words.

"From what we gathered, he killed some of the gods who had gone mad, stole their Lord Souls, and used them to restore the First Flame. He was then immolated and reborn as a god. The Darksun then became his advisor, the Cycle continued, and then history repeated itself. The end," Elana said with a tone of disinterest.

"We never knew him. He existed before our time. But Gwyndolin, that is, the Darksun, always spoke fondly of the Chosen Undead. What was his title? Oh, that's right! He was known as the God of Peace! But Gwyndolin said his name was *&!%."

Upon hearing that name Erik felt something in the depths of his soul burst to life. He didn't even have time to utter a sound as he blacked out, memories consuming him.

Most of it eluded him, but he could make out a number of voices. Voices that belonged to people he had cared for once, long ago.

"Thou who art Undead art Chosen…"

"There are two Bells of Awakening…"

"Quelaag, dear sister, is that you…?"

"This land is peaceful, its inhabitant's kind…"

"I am the Darksun, guardian of my father's legacy…"

And lastly, a voice so full of hope and cheer that Erik couldn't help but smile as he faded.

"Praise the SUN!"


	42. Chapter 42: The Final Blue Feast

_**Chapter 42: The Final Blue Feast**_

"Wake up! Come now, time to rise, Erik!"

"Urg, not so loud," Erik groaned as his consciousness trickled back to him.

"Hush up, and don't be a baby. Besides, I'm practically whispering here." The voice, which the chef managed to decipher as Elana's, receded in intensity and volume. Pale light then decided to join in on the fun of tormenting him and the bright rays pierced through his eyelids.

With a strangled grunt Erik sat up and opened his eyes. He was in a circular chamber wrought from dark grey stone. Further away from him one of the Dark Altars stood, waiting to transport the chef and his group.

"Oh, lad, you're awake!" Benhart cried with joy, hastening over to the young Undead's side. He had been leaning against the wall chatting with Nadalia when Erik had stirred.

"I was worried! When you passed out none of us knew what had happened or what to do!"

"So you can slay a dragon but not care for a patient?" Erik said with a cheeky smile at the knight from Jugo.

"Hmph!" The swarthy man huffed but then grinned widely. "You had us panicking for a bit. The Ladies Nadalia and Alsanna were afraid your state was due to having all those secrets revealed. A defense from their mysterious Darksun."

"No, it was the name Elana said. Whoever that God of Peace was, my soul reacted to it," Erik said. With Benhart's help the chef got back to his feet.

"Never before have I seen anyone have such a reaction to the name," Elana admitted. "What did you see when you passed out? Were there any memories?"

"I don't think so. There were a lot of voices though. For some reason they were familiar, despite never having heard them before," Erik admitted.

"Well, regardless of what happened, all that matters is you are safe and sound," Nadalia said with a smile.

"Indeed. Now you possess the four Lord Souls necessary for fueling the First Flame. All we need to do is find it." Alsanna's voice was full of hopeful excitement. It had been too long since she had been on the frontlines fighting for the salvation of the world. The adrenaline from battling Sinh had reawakened old parts of her.

"First we travel back to the Black Gulch and light the Primal Bonfire. It acts as one of the main - I suppose you could call it arteries - for the First Flame. If it is not lit then when the renewal of the world occurs the region it governs may not be properly purified, leading to a quicker fading in the next Cycle," Nadalia explained. "It's happened before, and those were some of the more difficult eras to navigate."

"Alright then, let's go," Erik said, looking towards the twisted altar. He then paused, remembering something.

"What happened to the dragon's soul?"

"I destroyed it," Elana said, voice deadpan. "Ancient Stone Dragons are very durable. If their soul is not destroyed it will eventually reform and the beast will be reborn. Absorbing the soul helps little, nor does forging it into a weapon. Eventually the dragon will assimilate enough stray power to revive. If the soul is extinguished, however…"

"Understood," Erik said with a nod. It was hardly a loss. Plus, the chef was unsure what would happen if he absorbed it. Several souls within him detested it, and Sinh in turn had reviled them.

The result would probably be akin to spiritual indigestion.

With great speed the team, now augmented by a new eldritch being of the Dark, gathered their belongings and returned to the Primal Bonfire to light it. They felt themselves become wrapped into powerful magic and torn through time and space back to Majula.

Crackling golden sparks heralded their return and the residents all turned to watch. All but thrown from the local Bonfire Erik and Benhart managed to keep their footing, while the three Sisters of Darkness lost their stance. Being unused to this method of travel ended up falling into an undignified heap.

"Welcome back! I see you brought a new lady with you!" Vengarl called out. As he spoke three playful howls came from three gargantuan saber toothed tigers who hurled themselves at their returned mommy.

The result was a trio of ancient beings pinned beneath a mountain of fluffy fur.

"Please, babies, mommy needs her air!" Alsanna gasped, struggling under the weight of her pets and sisters.

"So cute… so funny… must not laugh…" Erik gasped out, trying to contain his humor. Benhart was also shaking with conceal mirth, as were a number of other people.

"Ahaha! Look at you all! I knew you sisters were a bunch of closet lesbians! Why else would you look so happy to be under a pile of pussy?!"

Mytha, it seemed, had no qualms about laughing or making crude jokes.

"Who the hell is that vulgar woman?" Elana demanded as she struggled to her feet.

"Former queen of Alken and a… friend," Nadalia claimed, hesitating a bit on that last part. The tall chocolate skinned woman just laughed and wrapped an arm around the Bride of Ash.

"Oh, so reserved! Nice to meet another one of the brood. The name's Mytha. Yours?"

"Elana. For a queen you're surprising relaxed," the Squalid Queen noted.

"My kingdom is dead and the only relatives left are in Jugo or that knight next to Erik. I have little care to give for protocols that are useless."

"Fair enough."

Over by the boulders, Shanalotte just stared opened mouthed at the collection of people who had graced her town. Two of the Dark Ones was strange enough, but three?

Erik caught her eye and walked over to her.

"I've retrieved the fourth and final soul. Now what?"

"You must find King Vendrick. He alone knows the location of the First Flame," the Emerald Herald explained.

"Wouldn't they know?" Erik asked, pointing with his thumb at the three eldritch siblings.

"Sorry, can't help you on that front," Nadalia apologized, overhearing the conversation.

"The First Flame exists not in a physical location but a severed dimension. Only those who obtain permission or bear the soul of a god can approach it and enter. And the boundary gate which seals it is not known to us. We literally cannot perceive it due to our nature as Children of the Dark."

"I see. Well, at least I know where Vendrick is," Erik said with a sigh. At that everyone fell silent, staring at him in surprise.

"What?"

"King Vendrick went missing centuries ago! He took only a few guards with him, including Velstadt! He told no one where he was going or why!" Shanalotte protested. "Not even my scrying can pierce the veil he wove around himself! He hides in a realm beyond the Flames reach!"

"Well, a giant skeleton told me he was 'hiding in a crypt' below Castle Drangleic," the chef revealed. Again, stares were his only response.

"That absolute nutter. He hid in the Crypt?!" Vengarl shouted, stomping over to the group.

"You know of it?" Erik asked.

"Of course I do! He made me kidnap a bunch of women from the Shrine of Amana one time!" More silence and awkwardness.

"Explain?"

"Do you want to know why Vendrick built his castle where it is today? Because it is built over the ancient Shrine of Amana, which is in turn built on top of the Undead Crypt. The Crypt is from some insanely ancient race, and controlled by the Children of Nito. He wanted some magical singing women, the Milfanito, to use their songs to suppress some sort of demon or dragon or something. I wasn't clear on the whole reasoning," the Undead Red Rust Knight explained.

"So he's literal just hiding in his basement?" Erik asked incredulously, and the crimson armored warrior shrugged.

"Seems like it. That whole region is full of weird magic. Not Dark, but definitely nothing based on the Light."

Erik slapped his face and sighed. "Alright, time to head to the castle, I guess. Nadalia, can you ask Raime if your last sister is docile, or willing to let us past?"

"One second." The Bride of Ash tilted her head to the side and let her eyes glaze over. After a minute she snapped back to reality and faced the Undead cook.

"She seems to be waiting. Probably for a chance to strike when you least expect it and steal the souls for herself, or something."

"Goody." The chef sighed and looked around. "Who am I taking with me?"

"Me, of course," Benhart declared proudly. "I'm just getting warmed up! One dragon isn't enough to slow down this knight!"

"I'll join as well. Haven't had a good fight in a long time and I don't want to get rustier. I feel something big is coming," Vengarl stated. He then turned to the Knight of the Blue Moon with a surprised expression.

"Wait, a dragon? You mean one of those Wyverns or Lesser Drakes, right?"

"Nope! An honest to gods Ancient Stone Dragon!"

It was absolutely hilarious to see pure jealousy spread across the Forossan knight's features while the knight from Jugo preened at the praise his many-great aunt lavished upon him.

Any further discussion was cut off when the Bonfire crackled to life once more and Gordin of the Blue Sentinels stepped out.

"Erik Potts, I've been asked to bring you to the base. The Orders have a proposition for you."

The chef from Lindelt blinked.

"What's going on?"

"The Twin Azure Orders are planning on launching an attack on Nahr Alma's forces at the Coliseum. We would like it if you joined us."

"…What?"

It took some coaxing but at length Erik agreed to meet with Targey and Saulden at the Cathedral.

Vengarl also expressed an interest in seeing what was going on, and after Gordin stopped acting like a fanboy around one of the legendary warriors of his homeland the Blue Sentinel agreed.

"We've managed to corner the Brotherhood of Blood in the Huntsman's Copse," Gordin explained as the hurried through the halls of the waterlogged base.

"How?" Erik inquired.

"Lots of Human Effigies," the Forossan claimed. "Burn one of those in a Bonfire and it creates a temporary barrier to isolate summons. It's taken a lot of Effigies but we've made a barrier that surrounded their base. Thanks to Carhillion's aide the effect is simple; no Phantoms can be summoned beyond the boundary of the wards. It is attuned to the Brotherhood's unique Red Eye Orb system so we can still use Blue and White Phantoms but they are limited to their own physical bodies."

"In addition to the Effigy Barrier, we have killed as many of the Brotherhood as possible to drive them back to their main base. We finally have a significant majority trapped and ready to be butchered. And, we've confirmed Nahr Alma is there as well."

"How?" Vengarl demanded, leaning over to his slightly smaller kinsman.

"After Erik showed us those unusual souls were sent in powerful sensors attuned to souls to investigate." It was a new person who spoke up.

The group from Majula had been led into the war room Erik had seen previously, and there was just as much activity going on in there this time as well.

Targey stepped up and shook Erik's hand in greet, doing the same to Vengarl and Benhart before continuing.

"With careful scouting we confirmed that someone with a God Soul was hiding in the Coliseum. Some more in-depth study revealed to us it was Nahr Alma himself, based on the sheer amount of red in the soul, and the way the others inside the Coliseum deferred to him. Now we are preparing to launch an attack on the base to wipe them out permanently."

"And you want me to fight?" Erik asked. Saulden was the one to speak next.

"Not at all. What we'd like is for you to cook us a pre-battle feast." Erik raised an eyebrow at that.

"That's all?"

"Yes. Your food buoyed our men last time, and we need all the support we can get. Your cooking will provide significant morale to the troops," Targey elaborated.

It took the chef of Lindelt less than a minute to decide.

"Show me to the kitchens!"

\ \ ~ ~ ~ / /

"Bring me more onions! And is this really all the flour you have?! Fetch more! And make sure we have plenty of meat stocked up, you people eat like you're starving!"

Erik was in his element. He could fight with monsters and Hollows, would stand against demons and try to light the First Flame to become a god of the world, but the kitchen was where he belonged.

He and a few other people, mostly from the Way of Blue, were cooking up a storm in the Cathedral as they prepped a giant meal for several hundred members of the Twin Azure Orders.

Some of the finest ingredients had been gathered by the various agents, though in the ruins of Drangleic, basic necessities for cooking like 'oil' and 'fresh produce' were considered luxuries. That they even had unspoiled grain products and meat was a small miracle, especially in these numbers.

But Erik made do. Oh, by the gods he made do.

"Take the curry off the main fire and put it in a smaller one! And take that cauldron of stew away before it boils over! Does anyone here understand the concept of kneading dough?! It isn't the skull of a Hollow, you massage it, not bash it!"

"Like a general leading troops," Benhart said approvingly of his traveling partner.

"Indeed. It's like watching Donovan Potts all over again," Vengarl said wistfully.

"Why are you two standing around like stuck pigs?! Those potatoes won't peel themselves!"

"Yes sir, sorry sir!" The two famous warrior cried, cringing as chef's attention fell on them. They quickly resumed cleaning and slicing the various vegetables, hunching over slightly to try and avoid the wrath of Erik Potts.

"In this place, I am king. In this realm, my word is law. I am already a god of my own domain! **Mwahahaha**!" Erik laughed maniacally, lording over the kitchens.

As one, dozens of battle hardened veterans shivered. Hollows and blood thirsty cultists were one thing. A chef letting loose and relieving stress was another.

After a veritable storm of activity, it was finished. Literal tons of food were brought out to dozens of massive, sturdy tables.

There wasn't enough room in the Cathedral for all the people in the two Covenants, so the golems around the building were cleared out with extreme force and furniture set up under the sky. Dusk was upon them by the time they finished setting up and cooking, and torches lit up the growing darkness.

"Brothers and sisters. Comrades in arms and companions of countless campaigns," Targey began, standing at the head of the largest table. He was joined by Saulden, Gordin, the Dragonslayer, and other high ranked members as well as their guests.

"We stand here in Drangleic, land of the gods, here on a mission to slay one. It is to avenge the dead and bring justice upon his evil deeds. It is for peace and a better future!"

"Our time here as not been easy. Endless battle has whittled away at our numbers. Many have lost their wills and their minds. Swallowed up by the crushing despair that emanates from this cursed realm. Yet when we were on the brink of collapse, our collective will faltering, we were saved!"

The Grandmaster of the Blue Sentinels turned to Erik who blushed under hundreds of eyes.

"When Erik Potts first came to me, I was surprised to see such a young man on such a harsh journey. But he proved his will to be strong, and his heart to be full of naught but caring. He fed us and shared with us his hope and his strength. He revived our spirits, renewed our purpose. And tonight, we celebrate his efforts! For tomorrow, there will be no more Brotherhood of Blood! The God of Murder will perish! Without this chef, our victory might never have come! So raise your glasses and mugs and cups to this man! Hurrah for Erik Potts!"

" **Hurrah! Hurrah**!" Their voices boomed over the landscape and Erik tried to sink into his seat in embarrassment. Vengarl did not let him do so and he lifted the young cook out of his chair with a single arm while the knight remained sitting.

Cheers and applause echoed before falling silent. The assembled figures leaned in, eager to hear words from their savior.

"Um, please enjoy the food, I made it with love and caring?" Erik said, his words unsure. But roars of approval rang forth regardless and Saulden offered the chef a pat on the back and a faint smile.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to work on giving speeches in the future," the Crestfallen Knight declared and the cook sighed.

Still, a smile etched itself on his face. His cooking had brought about this joy. Nothing was better for a chef than this.


	43. Chapter 43: Death Knell of a Deity

_**Chapter 43: Death knell of a Deity**_

"You don't have to be here, you know," Saulden said, glancing over at the chef who stood assembled among numerous members of the Twin Azure Covenants. There were in a small alcove where a bonfire was. Before them, the blood-stained Coliseum loomed in the gloom.

"I cannot explain it, but I feel that something is pulling me here. I need to bear witness to Nahr Alma's demise."

"I see," the Covenant master mused, turning his gaze over to the men who stood next to Erik Potts like guards. Benhart of Jugo was here for Erik and to end the dire threat the Brotherhood posed, but there was a smoldering fury in the eyes of Vengarl.

In fact that same blood thirsty look was in the faces of several of the warriors from Forossa. The red giant and Gordin had declined to explain why, claiming that their reason was personal. For Forossans at least.

"So be it, then. Targey, shall we begin the assault?" Saulden inquired and his friend nodded.

"Indeed. Blue Sentinels, advance!"

"Way of Blue, forward!"

With their roared commands echoing over the hills of the Huntsman's Copse hundreds of men and women surged forward towards.

Earlier in the morning the Twin Azure Orders had warped over to the Huntsman's Copse and sealed off the entrances and exits with fog gates. Furthermore their barriers were raised and Phantoms could not manifest. The main advantage of the Brotherhood of Blood was gutted.

As soon as that happened a burst of activity had filled the ancient ruins and countless figures could be seen within preparing basic defenses. Then, the justice seeking warriors prepared for a siege. The only way to the Coliseum was a rickety bridge, but engineers from the Covenants had raised smaller crosswalks when the murderous cultists had cut the ropes.

Soon, arrows were flying through the air alongside spells, miracles, hexes, and pyromancies from both sides.

"Keep the cultists from targeting our ladders! And bring up more Lifegems, we have wounded out there!" Targey shouted.

"Ah, a good old fashioned siege! I haven't been in one of these since I brought down the walls of Carme," Vengarl reminisced. Erik blanched at that.

The city once known as Carme in Lindelt had been besieged by countless mercenaries from Forossa centuries ago. None knew the reason why, but the city that had once held the archives of the gods was razed to the ground.

"Oh, don't worry, Erik. Ivar and I didn't partake in too much of the looting," Vengarl assured his companion with what he assumed was a comforting smile. Coming from the towering slab of muscles and death it was mostly terrifying.

Hours passed by in a blur of blood and smoke. The Undead on both side made this conflict a battle of attrition more than anything else. But there were two advantages the Twin Azure Orders had that were wearing down the Brotherhood.

First, their skills were superior. Many had had some degree of training before enlisting and years as an Undead allowed them to hone those skills further. And last but not least was morale.

The Brothers of Blood did not have Erik Potts or his cooking. They did not have hope. Compared to the dozen or so Blue Sentinels who had gone Hollow so far, ten times that number from the cultists had gone mad from the constant deaths. And that was the nail in the coffin for the Coliseum's defenses.

"The gate is ours! We can make our way inside!" A scout cried out, and Targey and Saulden smirked while Vengarl gained a feral grin.

"Let's go! Take the entrance and push in! Slaughter them all! Rip and tear them and their god to scraps of meat!" The Crimson Lion of Forossa roared, raising his cleaver-like blade in the air. Howls of bloodlust from the other Forossans filled the Copse. He then charged forwards, a few steps ahead of the Covenant masters.

"Well, he seems eager," Saulden said, amused. Erik just sighed and walked forth as well, drawing his swords and firing up his powers.

"Come on, Benhart. Let's make sure Vengarl doesn't have all the fun."

"Now you're getting into the spirit of Drangleic!" The knight of Jugo chuckled before hefting his gargantuan sword and hurrying out to take his own share of souls.

The chef from Lindelt watched in awe as the once headless man barreled through the mass of soldiers of both sides. He at least had the sense to only strike the cultists, which was a small mercy.

"Come out, Nahr Alma! Face the children of Faraam!" Vengarl screamed.

Through the Coliseum Erik and his group ran. The place they came to was a narrow race track, where more than a few clumps of Undead were battling. Necromancers and animated skeletons mingled with the Brotherhood as they clashed against the Blue warriors. Vengarl strode through it all, striking out against any who challenged him.

Suddenly, a faint rattling sound echoed around the walls, and stones and bones began to clatter as something began to charge down the narrow lane towards the entrance.

"Chariot! Chariot! Here comes the chariot!" Several of the Brotherhood cried, elated at the arrival of their trump card.

From around the bend a massive, deformed skeletal horse with two heads appeared, dragging a large, spiked chariot while a skeleton lashed out from the back with a spear and notched whip.

It mowed down friend and foe alike, grinding them to paste beneath jagged wheels and pounding hooves. A gout of black fire was belched at those in front of the steed, and it nicked in grim amusement as they scattered.

Yet Vengarl held his ground.

"Get out of the way!" Erik shouted. He raised his hand an sent out a rush of ice. It turned the floor in front of the chariot slippery, and the two-head horse slipped, sending its payload flying. With an almost comical look of surprise the Charioteer spun through the air before plunging down into the deep pit behind Erik.

A rush of souls ran up to him, and the chef blinked in surprise. But it wasn't over yet. The horse staggered to its feet, and freed of its harness, began to rampage. Unfortunately for it, it was in front of a certain knight is red, rusted armor.

"Face the might of the Red Lion of Forossa, scum!" Vengarl roared. "You and your master shall perish today!"

The malformed demon-horse-skeleton neighed before charging with black, cursed flames billowing from it.

To everyone's surprise, Vengarl put away his weapons and took a stance that looked as if he was going to catch the creature and stop it with his own two hands.

"He's mad," Benhart said in appreciation. Erik only sweat-dropped.

With an eerie cry, the horse-thing slammed into the crimson knight. To everyone's shock, especially the horses', Vengarl only skidded back a few steps before stopping it's momentum and movement completely.

Pure awe in the eyes of everyone present, and more than a lot of shock in the empty sockets, Vengarl tightened the grip of his arms that were wrapped around its necks, before he let out a mighty battlecry and did the most insane, hardcore, and impossible stunt anyone had ever seen. And for people who'd survived Drangleic, that was saying something.

Vengarl lifted the horse then toppled backwards, delivering a devastating suplex. The two skulls shattered like fragile porcelain as it was slammed into the tiled floor, shards of ivory flying off like shrapnel. The flickering black flames that had sustained it faded and was replaced by a black and red soul that danced in its ribcage.

That act alone had caused every battle going on in the chariot track to stop dead. And the combatants to stare.

"What the fuck?" A familiar woman hexer in an animal skull mask had uttered.

"Run or die." Vengarl stated as he rose, slicing the tainted soul into pieces before it could be absorbed. Those words were filled with promises of death and more than a few cultists darted away in sheer terror.

"Did that just happen?" Erik asked, turning to Benhart. He noticed that Saulden and Targey were staring in stupefied shock, while Gordin looked like Winter Fest Day had come early had he'd gotten all the gifts.

The Grandmaster of the Blue Sentinels shook his head to regain his composure before pointing into the distance of the now emptying road.

"Up the stairs! I can feel the soul of a god in the central arena!" Targey directed. Leaving Vengarl behind to butcher the remaining cultists on the race track the group rushed towards the interior of the Coliseum and up some stairs, finding a bonfire burning in a corner. A few Brotherhood cultists were popping out of it, so it was probably the source of their revival.

However, what brought everyone up short was a tiny person blocking the rest of the way inside. No pun intended since making fun of a person with a sharp scythe tends to be a bad idea. The cultist in question was a dwarf, less than four feet tall and wearing tattered rags and a conical helmet. Clutched in their hands was a scythe that seemed comically oversized for the wielder's size.

"Ah, more intruders! Fresh blood, lots of blood!" The small figure cackled.

"Titchy Gren," Saulden hissed, glaring at the man.

"Step back, I'll deal with him," Gordin declared, stepping forward.

"Who is he?" Erik asked. Why was everyone acting like this man was a threat?

"Don't let his appearance deceive you. That individual is the Covenant Master of the Brotherhood of Blood, and second in command to Nahr Alma himself," Targey warned.

"Die!" Titchy Gren cried, lunging forward with unnatural dexterity and speed. Gordin countered with his reclaimed great sword and ethereal sparks went flying when the two blades crossed.

Oozing red flames suddenly leapt forth from the midget and sent Gordin flying back.

"None can match my Chaos Flames! I'll melt you down and feed you to master Alma!" the dwarf snickered.

"Go! I'll hold this little psychopath back!" Gordin shouted, dodging a literally screaming fireball that turned the tiles it struck into a puddle of pseudo-lava. He then dashed forward and forced the miniature figure back against the wall, leaving the stairs free.

"Fight well," Erik uttered as he rushed past.

"I shall."

The team consisting of the chef, Benhart, Saulden and Targey fought their way into the central domain of the Coliseum. The inside was an open air amphitheater that dominated the center with a bridge overheard and a jumble of rubble in the middle of the arena's stage.

And sitting upon the wreckage like a throne was a towering man, easily the largest Erik had ever seen. But what was more noticeable was the power he oozed. The man's soul screamed out, straining against the flesh and bathing the arena in crimson-gold shadows.

His skin was bronze colored, while a tangled mane of red hair dominated his head. He wore naught but a chainmail loincloth and two rings, one on each hand. Eyes that were blood and gold stared down with distain, and with a sigh the figure rose up.

"I was hoping for my challengers to be somewhat more impressive. But what do I get? A bunch of righteous knights and a freakishly white souled weakling?"

Faster than anyone could blink the titan jumped from his perch and landed in front of the intruders. The deity cracked his knuckles and lashed out with a vicious punch. Benhart didn't even have time to raise his sword to defend before the blow sent the Jugonan flying into the wall. The chef took a step forward before an arm was thrown in front of him.

"Erik, stay back!" Saulden commanded.

"Yes, stay out of this. As delectable your souls may be you yourself are nothing. So be a good boy and let the real men talk before I rip those godly fragments from you," Nahr Alma sneered, dismissing the chef with a wave.

Erik nodded mutely at the normally dreary knight before running over to check on Benhart. The Bluemoon Knight's armor was completely ruined. The blow had ripped his leather and chainmail chest plate open, exposing tan skin that was punctured with a gaping wound and slick with blood. The chef hastily dripped some estus onto the wound, and it rapidly healed.

"That hurt," Benhart wheezed, struggling to sit up.

"Stay down. That blow did a lot of damage."

The Knight of the Bluemoon reluctantly agreed and sagged a bit as the pain faded somewhat.

"How are Saulden and Targey doing?" he asked, and Erik turned around to check. The chef paled as he saw the fight.

'Fight' was too strong a word though. 'One sided massacre' was probably most apt. Nahr Alma was a brutal warrior and possessed immense strength. Each blow sent them staggering back with cracks on their armaments. The two grandmasters had been forced onto the defensive by the brawling god.

"…They could be doing better," Erik admitted.

"Something is strange about that being. When he struck me with his fist, I'd swear I felt something else strike me as well," Benhart confessed, struggling into a position he could watch the fight.

"Good eye." The pair on the sideline looked over to where Vengarl had suddenly appeared. Pure loathing was directed at the God of Murder and the Red Lion Knight snarled in fury. "Now sit back and witness the revenge of Forossa."

Without waiting for a reply, the once headless Undead lunged forward, slashing his machete like sword down upon the back of the god.

"Sneak attacks don't work on me," Nahr Alma uttered, and a vicious kick was barely blocked by Vengarl's shield.

"Nahr Alma! In the name of Forossa and Faraam the God of Knights, I condemn you! Face death at my hands!" Vengarl howled.

"Another pitiful follower of that weakling? I'll enjoy this," the bloody god mocked, bringing his fists up.

What followed was an impossible display of martial skill. Nahr Alma hurled punch after punch that were almost too fast to even see! The shockwaves of his blows tore up the ground and sent shards of stone flying.

But each and every attack was blocked or countered by Vengarl. The attacks from the god either broke upon his shield or were deflected by his blade.

"Do you recognize this armor? It is the blessed armament and equipment of Faraam himself, drenched in the blood of millions of warriors. Imbued by the First Flames blessings, this armor can hold up to your blasphemy with ease," Vengarl taunted. "Ivar and I spent our youth collecting these scattered relics, all in order to fight you one day. And though my friend may not be here, I know he watches me all the same."

Nahr Alma simply began to strike harder and faster, displeasure clear through a frown on the god's face. But then a cruel smile split his face and Erik shivered.

"Perhaps. But that armor was for a god, not a man. And as strong as you may be, my impacts still send shockwaves through your body, tearing up muscles and cracking bones. Because that is the price for wearing unbreakable armor. Something else has to give instead."

It was clear that the God of Murder's words were true. Blood was starting to drip from Vengarl as he was torn up on the inside of his armor. Plus, he was slowly weakening, for the fists of the god were heavy and draining the Crimson Lion's stamina rapidly.

All seemed lost when one of Nahr Alma's blows sent Vengarl staggering back. But much to the murderous deities shock, that had been naught but a faint.

"Hiyaaa!" With a mighty roar Vengarl twisted to the side at the last minute and brought his sword crashing down upon the god's wrist. A scream of pain and a spurt of golden ichor later and the fist was sent tumbling to the floor.

"Holy…!" Erik cried as the severed limb smashed into the floor next to him. Furthermore, in front of his eyes something flickered and the fist was covered in a punching glove made of bone.

"Illusory Ring of the Exalted," Vengarl snarled, taking a step towards the de-handed god. "One of two of God Faraam's sacred artifacts, alongside the Illusory Ring of the Conqueror."

"The Exalted ring turns the weapon held in the right hand invisible, while the Conqueror's ring does the same for the left. That's the secret behind your strength. After you murdered our lord and drove Forossa to ruin, you stole his artifacts and used them for your own vile uses."

"Bravo. I'd applaud your deduction if I cared," Nahr Alma scowled. Vengarl ignored him and pointed his blade at the crippled god.

"You time is over. Pay for your sins with your own blood!" The battle erupted once more, but this time Vengarl was the one leading the fight.

The Blood God was on the defensive, small cuts appearing on his body as the Forossan hurled himself at his foe.

"What is this?! How are you this strong?!"

"I have Faraam's blessing, you bastard! And I have that of his wife!"

Erik blinked in surprise at that. He hadn't known Elana had given Vengarl anything, or even told him. But then again the knight was smarter than most would believe. He could have figured it out on his own, and spoken to the Squalid Queen in private.

"I devoured his soul! I am the god of war now!" Nahr Alma retorted, only to lose his other arm when Gordin jumped down from above, severing it from the elbow up.

"What?!"

"The secrets of the Fall of Forossa have been passed down through the centuries," Gordin said with a sneer. "From master to apprentice the survivors have told of your treachery, teaching the young to hate you and dream of your death. And though the message and lesson have faded over time, there are those who still remember. And now, we have a chance at revenge. The Scions of Faraam judge you! And we find you guilty!"

From the shadows a dozen other people appeared. They wrapped chains around the stunned god and dragged him to his knees, pinning him down as Erik, Benhart, and the grandmasters stared in awe.

Nahr Alma cried out in fury, struggling against his bonds. But they glowed with blue energy, and though they creaked and groaned, the enchanted metal held strong.

"Titchy Gren! Charioteer! Anyone!" The God of Murder howled, a tinge of dread in his voice. But there was no response. The Forrossan chuckled darkly as they witness their ancient foe grow terrified.

"No one can help you now."

The patron of bloodshed looked up into the pitiless eyes of his audience, and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

"Die." So utterly cold was Vengarl's command Erik could swear he saw frost appear on the ground.

Without hesitating the red armored behemoth drew his rust-red scimitar and together with his other sword, brought the blades down onto Nahr Alma's neck.

An explosion of power ripped apart the arena, the god screaming in pain as he immolated in a massive gold and red fireball. The flames then condensed into a giant flickering soul, the final remains of the once fearsome God of Murder.

"Is it over?" One of the Forossan Sentinels inquired. The chains had been melted by the blast and Vengarl had been thrown back as a steaming semi-corpse.

A fearsome howl reverberated through the air, and the twisted soul throbbed violently. It spasmed, and his two severed arms disappeared in a flash of light and flames, not unlike how Undead were claimed by a bonfire. They left behind the rings and bone gauntlets though, so whatever was happening, it wasn't exactly the same sort of reanimation.

The soul began to contort violently, bulging as countless faces appeared in the flames. Limbs started to grow from the First Flame's fragment as something tried to claw back from death.

Before anyone could act, a gold and ivory arrow lashed out from the shadows and impaled the god's soul. Stunned silence greeted the attack, and even the monstrous soul seemed surprised before emitting a mind numbing cry.

With a vile shriek that made everyone's head pound, the throbbing mass of energy twisted and contorted before imploding. Naught was left but a scorch mark on the floor.

"…Yes, I would say so," Gordin said with a chuckle as the shock wore off. "So, who shot that arrow?"

When no one spoke up, Gordin frowned. He looked about, but everyone seemed as confused as him. He walked over and picked up the arrow, or what was left of it.

From the shape of it, the projectile resembled a golden needle crossed with a sun motif.

"Well, alright then. Commander Targey, Commander Saulden, I believe this is our victory."

"We're going to have words about you keeping certain secret's from us," Targey vowed, and the assembled Forossan's shuffled awkwardly.

"But for now, it is indeed our victory," Saulden said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let us inform the troops."

"Do you ever feel really useless, and that you could be doing more?" Erik asked Benhart as he helped the knight to his feet while the Blue Sentinels exited the arena.

"I have, recently," the Jugonan admitted.

"Oh. Well then. Let's grab Vengarl and leave this place." The chef and knight hobbled over to the charred titan and helped him to his feet. As they all left though, none noticed the feminine figure clad in brass armor that watched them leave.


	44. Chapter 44: Training Montage

_**Chapter 44: Training Montage and Fate Revealed**_

"Now, take deep breaths. Feel the temperature around you. Pyromancy and Cryomancy are two sides of the same coin; manipulation of heat. Where the fire of Pyromancy devours and moves, the ice of Cryomancy is the opposite. It is cessation of movement. Can you feel it? The power to make the world immobile?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good. Now, try to shape the ice like you would a Pyromancy."

Erik complied, carefully drawing wisps of icy mist towards him. They pooled in his left palm, turning into tiny chunks of frozen water which grew until it was a fist sized snowball.

His teacher nodded, impressed. "Very good. You have an instinctive grasp of ice that most Cryomancers of old would have killed for."

Alsanna, former High Priestess of Eleum Loyce watched over her newest student. The chef from Lindelt had come to her for advice on how to control his cold powers. He knew he needed an edge over the threats he would soon face. Be it the beings that guarded the Throne of Want, or Aldia and Nashdra, Erik wanted to be able to stand against them somehow. The Child of Fear agreed.

For a week since the raid and dismantling of the Brotherhood of Blood, Erik eagerly trained in the Giant's Woods, alternating between the Daughters of Dark for control of his two types of spells, and Vengarl and Benhart for mastery of the sword. While the two knights were used to larger weapons, they still had plenty of pointers for the chef. Stances, guards, and more were beaten into him hour after hour.

"Good. Now, for the final test of the day, perform the spell Shrouding Mist," Alsanna instructed. Erik nodded, and the cold air around him warped and spilled out. Soon, there was a blanket of thick fog that surrounded the chef. The magic within it was similar to the Fog Gates that powerful souls could call forth. Weak spells and attacks would be absorbed harmlessly into it and negated while foes would stumble about blind and slowly succumb to the stamina draining cold.

"Amazing! You've progressive to the level of a Knight of Loyce in under a month! Few save Ivar have ever achieved such a feat!" Alsanna declared, and the chef smiled proudly as he dispelled the mist.

It felt right, natural. As if he knew what to do before he even did it. The young cook often felt that way about his swordplay as well. As if he had done it all before, long ago…

"Thank you, it wouldn't have been possible without you," Erik said humbly. The raven haired woman shook her head.

"Talent played a large part in your progress. But I feel we should return to Majula now. We shall plan on our path of assault on Drangleic Castle soon." A vicious smile creeped onto the Child of Fear's face and Erik shivered.

"You're really not happy with Nashandra, are you?"

"No, I am not. Nashandra was always greedy and craving power, but after all the trials and hardships our family went through I'd thought she had come to understand how foolish an idea it was to oppose the powers that be." Alsanna sighed.

A Hollow stumbled out of the trees, making the Undead and Dark Spawn look over. Alsanna grinned, stepping over to the poor mindless being.

"Watch closely, Erik. This technique I am about to show you is one reason why Cryomancy and Eleum Loyce were so respected, and feared, in the magical community." The Daughter of Dark stepped up and held out her hand. The Hollow, spotting her, lumbered forward with a broken sword in hand. It barely made it five steps before it suddenly transformed into an icy statue, frost and ice covering it instantly.

"Whoa!" Erik jumped in surprise and Alsanna nodded at her handiwork. Then, in her outstretched hand, a Fireball appeared, which she tossed at the frozen Hollow. It exploded, shards of chilled meat flying everywhere.

"That was Flash Freeze, one of the most deadly and powerful Cryomancies. It steals the body heat and warmth from a target, turning them into an icicle instantly. Then, the heat that was stolen can be shaped into a Fireball and used to deal even more damage." Alsanna turned to the chef with a smug look.

"An instant kill spell for most living creatures and dangerous for all else. If you can master that spell, you will be unstoppable. Combined with your impossible Luck, Drangleic will bow to you."

"Uh, sure," Erik said, still stunned by the display. The pair returned to Majula as the sun was starting to dip.

"I'll go see what ingredients Melentia and Magerold managed to scrounge up. Hopefully they caught some birds or fish this time. I like soup and stew as much as the next fellow, but real meat would be lovely," Erik said as the town gate came into view.

"Before you head off to make dinner, I need to speak with you," Alsanna said, stopping the chef. He turned to face the one-eyed woman who folded her arms.

"You've been avoiding the Firekeeper this past week. Why?"

"Ah. That. I just… saw some things in a memory recently. And I'm not sure how to talk to her about it."

"Oh?" Alsanna tilted her head, curious. "What would make you so nervous about the girl?"

"It's about her parents."

The Child of Fear winced. "That would be something hard to bring up. I can tell she's not a human, or at least, not a natural one. She was made."

"By Aldia," Erik spat. His disgust was for the demented duke who had damned her, not the poor young woman with mismatched eyes.

"I know who her mother is. I saw her die. And everything else is… too miserable to mention. But I feel like she should know. She deserve to be aware of where she came from."

"Do what you think is best, young one. But do it soon. We march on the castle on the morrow, so make your peace with your lover now rather than later."

Erik blushed red at the blunt words of his teacher and his shook his head vehemently.

"No! It's not like that!"  
"Then is it Mytha you crave? I can see why, she does have ample 'assets,'" Alsanna said, taking on a teasing tone. She'd recently joined Nadalia and the former Queen of Alken in making the boy blush with embarrassment. It was quite fun.

Erik shook his head even harder. "Mytha is a friend! That's all!"

"Of course she is. And all the other young women you've charmed are 'just friends' as well?"

"Um, yes? Lucatiel, Chloanne, and Lidia are just friends and companions!"

Beneath her dark bangs Alsanna rolled her eye. This poor boy.

"My earlier point still stand. Speak to the Emerald Herald before we leave. That is an order from your mentor."

Erik bowed his head in compliance before heading down the hill toward the town. He had dinner for a dozen to make, after all.

\\\~~~/

"Miss Herald, may I speak with you?"

Shanalotte looked over at the young man who'd approached her boulder. In his hands were two bowls of warm stew. She bit her lip before nodding in agreement. All the other dinners Erik had tried to keep his distance for some reason. Now, it looked like he had worked up courage or had been forced to do this. Probably both, knowing the chef.

Erik sat down on the boulder next to her, and the Firekeeper shifted as his proximity to her. Instead of talking, though, he just handed her the bowl and the two spent the next half hour eating in silence.

Once the stew was consumed from both bowls the silence got to the Emerald Herald and she finally spoke.

"You have something you wish to say to me?"

"Yeah, I do." Erik took a deep breath and looked at her in the eyes.

"I want to know if you know who your parents were."

A frown marred her face and she snorted.

"My past is not a pleasant place, Erik Potts. You don't want to know of it."

"I know who your mother was. I know that Aldia did something terrible to you." A jolt ran through Shanalotte at that and she shot to her feet, bowl falling with a clatter.

"What did you say?"

"I encountered an insane woman tainted by Chaos on the path to the Brightstone Cove. I tried to save her mind and form, but she was too far gone. I failed. Yet she forgave me, and offered up her soul willingly. Inside it, I saw something… I saw you, as a baby, being taken from the poor woman by Aldia."

A slap rang through Majula and Erik fell off the boulder with a bright red mark on his cheek. The Emerald Herald's eyes were full of anger and tears and she trembled.

"How dare you? How dare you?! I grew up knowing nothing but pain and loneliness, and here you are telling me about a family I can never know?!"

"I-I just…"

"My earliest memory is being strapped to a stone slab by white robed men in golden masks and then forced to watched as fire was shoved into my body and soul. From the moment I could walk I was confined to a cell. My first words were 'stop hurting me!' And through it all, there was Aldia, whispering lies and foul truths into my ears. When I escaped I vowed I would foil whatever plans he had, and took up the position as the Last Firekeeper."

Shannalotte turned away from the chef. "Be gone from my sight."

Erik stood up, a crazy thought running through his mind. Behind him, he was aware that the other inhabitants, from cowardly Gilligan to haughty Elana, was watching this.

"No. I won't go away."

"Do you know how I was saved from becoming a sacrificial doll for Aldia's mad plan to take control of the First Flame?"

Erik shook his head, despite knowing she could not see it.

"I was freed by Shalquoir, who broke into his manor and hidden base alongside a woman in brass armor. Shalquoir had always been with me as a child, sneaking in to talk to me and teach me of the outside world. But when Aldia and Nashandra finished building their tainted altar, their Throne of Want, and were preparing to sacrifice me, she broke me out, aided by a mysterious knightess. After that, I don't remember much, but I recall the escape was foiled."

She took a deep breath, her trembling growing worse.

"I remember being dragged by my hair into a hidden throne room by Aldia himself and seeing the queen of Drangleic smiling like a mad woman at me. He told me that it was time to fulfill my destiny. I, who had been born from the Witch of Izalith's reincarnation and then implanted into the womb of her reborn daughter, was to become a living Human Effigy to allow the two of them to take command of the First Flame. I was to usurp the powers of all other Firekeepers, becoming the sole caretaker of the First Flame."

"He forced me to sit on a throne carved out of the corpse of the King of Giants, and I felt such pain! Fire tried to consume me, to remake me, but I was broken. Twisted. The divine power could not use me as a conduit. Aldia then attempted to syphon the power, but I resisted. I-I set him on fire." A cruel smile broke across Shanalotte's face as she remember that moment.

"Then, King Vendrick broke in and confronted his wife and brother and did battle. In the confusion I snuck out, and Shalquoir found me wandering about in the bowels of Castle Drangleic, covered in burns and near dead from my experiences."

"So do not speak to me of my past. I don't care if I have a mother, or a father. I live now to undo the damage Aldia did. But I am weak. My brief moment of connection with the First Flame turned me into a Firekeeper and bound me. I cannot stray far from any bonfire, and was made immortal so I might task others with rekindling the First Flame."

Silence fell upon the audience as the Emerald Herald finished her tale. A few sniffles came from the crowd and Shanalotte continued to tremble with repressed emotions.

"I didn't care about finding the Lord Souls when I started my journey," Erik admitted, speaking up in the stillness following her confession.

"I just wanted to explore and meet new people and see new placed and cook new foods. Yet Drangleic had other plans for me. I stumbled into situations where I had no choice but to fight, and somehow I became the Monarch Candidate. Now? Now I am going to reignite the First Flame and stick my blade up Aldia's non-existent ass for everything he has done. You think you are the only person he has hurt? That you are the only person deserving pity?"

Shanalotte spun around to confront the chef but her words died on her tongue as she stared at Erik. Something was happening with the young man.

White flames had begun to pour off his frame and his left hand which held his Fire Seeds had turned into a golden blaze. Erik didn't seem to notice this, but the rest of Majula had if their gasps of shock were anything to go by.

"Aldia and Nashandra stole the children of the Giants and tore them apart, creating Golems and causing the Gigantomachy. The mad duke murdered hundreds of innocent people to make his abominations. I saw him stitch twins together so they could become a two-headed sailor of his slave barge. I saw the results of his research all across Drangleic and fought them as well. I might not know what Aldia did personally, but I have seen his handiwork. You are nothing special."

Shanalotte turned red with fury, but Erik ignored her, stepping closer, the strange white flames growing stronger. Now shapes could be seen within them.

A dragon, a skeleton, a king, a witch. The latter caused the Emerald Herald to gasp as she observed their eyes: one purple, the other brown.

"Your tale of woe is one amongst millions. You have suffered, but so what? Everyone here has done so as well!" Erik waved his hand at the crowd of people behind them. They all remained stock still however, stunned by the towering figures that could be seen inside Erik's fire.

"I do not care about linking the flame. Or at least, not at first. But now, I have seen the truth, and I know that this is the path I must take. I did not want to save the world. But now I must. And I'll do so, if only to spite that bastard of a duke."

Erik snorted, and his flames twisted and writhed. And a fifth figure appeared within them. A man, so much smaller than the four god-like beings from before, yet he carried might unlike theirs. The chef's voice was joined with a second, and the words echoed with unfathomable age.

"I am not a hero. I am not some amazing figure of legend. I am a normal man who has found themselves trapped in unusual circumstances. But you want to know something, Miss Firekeeper? I will not give up. I will not bow to the whims of fate. I shall light the First Flame for one reason; everyone else would simply abuse it."

Without warning the white flames exploded off of Erik, enveloping the town and its inhabitants. Yet no one screamed. Instead, they all stared slack jawed as they watched the ruined buildings suddenly repair themselves.

Someone did let out a surprised voice, though, when they all noticed Lenigrast's green skin turn back to normal, and his massive wound vanish.

But Erik ignored it all, staring deep into Shanalotte's eyes. He took another step forward, and grabbed her shoulders.

"I am going to do something stupid now."

"Wha…"

Shanalotte was cut off as the chef drew her into a kiss. Muffled shouts of surprise came from her, and he released shortly after, but the damage was done. The Emerald Herald was now a stuttering, blushing mess who refused to look at Erik.

"What was that for?" She tried to sound strong and angry, but it came out weak. Her strong will and distant tone were gone, leaving only a surprised young woman.

"That was a promise," Erik declared. "I will not let you sink any further into self-pity. If I survive this mess, if I manage to defeat Aldia and light the First Flame, I will come back for you. And I will show you how amazing the world truly is when you're free."

Erik then strode away, the flames around him and the town vanished as he retreated to his tent for the evening. Everyone parted around him, slack jawed. Only once he was inside his dwelling did anyone dare to make a sound.

"Holy flaming shit. That was one of the manliest things I have ever seen. And I once saw my darling Faraam kill an Ogre with his bare fists while shirtless."

"Indeed, sister."

"Not enough tongue action. Could have been longer too. I'll have to give him lessons on how to properly make love to a woman later."

"I am not nearly drunk enough for this. Anyone got any Siegbrau left?"

"Oh, my~!"

Unseen by anyone else, Shanalotte reached up to her lips and stroked them absentmindedly with a far off look in her eyes. She then reached into her dress and removed a brown a white feather, clasping it close to her chest. In a blaze of white light, she vanished.


	45. Chapter 45: Into the Breach

_**Chapter 45: Into the Breach**_

.

"So, what do you think?" Chloanne asked, nervously shifting from foot to foot. In the corner Maughlin was sitting on a chest, trying not to look concerned but failing.

"This is amazing! I've never seen or worn armor like this before! Light, yet durable! You two outdid yourselves!" Erik praised, looking himself over in a nearby mirror.  
During the chef's week long training montage, the residents of Majula had been unexpectedly busy. They knew a storm was coming, and a final confrontation was about to descend on Drangleic. Who the contenders were, only Erik was known to them. But each one, from the cackling hag Melentia, to the airheaded yet caring Chloanne, to the greedy Gilligan, knew that if he won, their curse would be undone. And for that, they worked to insure he would survive the coming war.

From the hag-merchant, dozens of Ancient Life Gems had been scrounged up and sold at a discount to the young cook. Gilligan, Magerold, and Kale scoured the land for rare materials and treasure that might assist him in battle.

Elana, Vengarl, Saulden, and Benhart drilled the boy until he was a man, and Carhillion, Licia, Alsanna, and Nadalia forced his magic to the brink and back.

Mytha taught him basic etiquette for talking with women, though this seemed to have all flown over the poor chef's head. Shalquoir had given vague hints about what Erik could expect in Castle Drangleic and below.

As for the more crafting minded of the village, Chloanne, her father, and Maughlin had worked day and night to forge the finest armor for the chef. He already possessed a powerful weapon in the form of the Blade of Eleum Loyce, so defense was the most important matter.

And now, dawn of the day he was to march to the castle of King Vendrick, Erik was examining the masterwork armor they'd given him.

It was leather armor, but made from the tanned and cured hide of the King Basilisk Erik had slain. The Lionkin had been kind enough to offer it up once they found out it would aid their hero. This made the outfit immune to not only Curses and Petrifaction, but also the touch of Dark. Nadalia and Carhillion assumed this was because of the experiments Aldia and Duke Tseldora had performed on it.

The armor, which consisted of leggings and tunic, was studded with knobs and spikes of Twinkling Titanite, adding a small amount of defense towards magic of all kinds. It gave the ensemble a fearsome appearance, while being light enough for Erik's lightning fast movements and attack style.

Then there were the gloves and boots. Both sets were made of a combination of King Basilisk leather and fur from the three magical tigers that had taken up residence in the nearby forest. Alva, Lud, and Zallen had gracious allowed themselves to be brushed for some discarded hair that Maughlin had carefully added to the armor. Now, not only was Erik immune to heat and cold, but his magic was even more powerful and he'd be able to take less damage from a bad fall.

All in all, with his assortment of magical rings to add further bonuses, Erik was more than ready for battle.

"I'm glad you like it," Chloanne said with a breath of relief. "Father, Maughlin, and I worked hard to get it ready in time."

"Thank you so much," Erik said with a respectful bow of his head to the pair.

"Thank us by removing the Darksign from this world, friend," Maughlin said. "Do that, and I won't charge you for the armor."

"Heh. Thanks, Maughlin." Erik glanced out the window at the position of the rising sun. "I should go, now. The others are waiting for me."

With his goodbyes finished the chef strode with pride out of the armory, nodding in greeting to the Undead who called Majula home and had become his friends and companions.

As he approached the path leading towards the castle, Erik smiled as he saw the group that was to accompany him. Benhart was there, his oath still in effect. Behind him Vengarl stood, or rather, leaned against a large tree. Mytha stood nearby, her spear held loosely in her grip. Then there was the trio of Dark touched sisters, waiting eagerly for their champion.

"Looking very fine, young Potts. The armorer did a fantastic job," Benhart praised. Erik nodded in agreement.

"Well, no reason to wait around. Shall we go?"

"Indeed. Raime reports that there is no movement within the castle. There was some activity in the beginning of the week, but now it is oddly silent and still. We should be wary of any traps our sister has prepared," Nadalia informed. Agreement was echoed through the party and they set off towards the legendary castle.

\\\~~~/

"So this is where the Soul King lived," Erik said, impressed in spite of himself.

Castle Drangleic was a tall, imposing edifice, built on a large cliff overlooking a deep ravine which lead to a dark, foreboding lake. Towers and a long staircase all gave the structure a larger-than-life look.

Of course, it helped that there were gold and bronze armored titans and knights scattered about. On the stairs leading to castle and vaguely glimpsed patrolling the wall, it was a fortress that had Erik been less trained or in a smaller group, would have been hard pressed to pass through.

As it stood, the defenses fell in an almost pitiful way as the Primal Knight Golems and Knights of Syan met the steel and spells of the most deadly warriors still fighting for the side of Good.

However, the front door proved to be more of an obstacle than the Undead hoard guarding them.

"Open!" Elana roared, slamming her fist onto the imposing Titanite gates that refused to budge.

"I don't see a keyhole anywhere… is it activated through a spell or artifact?" Mytha mused, looking it over.

"The anti-siege mechanisms were the finest in the land. However, I was not made privy to their workings. I was a mere mercenary, and one with a bit of a bloody history," Vengarl apologized as he kicked a Hollowed Royal Guard over the edge of the cliff.

Raime gave a shrug as well as he wrestled another Primal Knight to the ground. He had been more of a fighter when in service to the king of the castle and had forgotten much in his time close to going Hollow. Plus, he had a feeling he'd missed the meeting where Vendrick had discussed this particular defense.

"I sense magic in those statues that flank the door. Could they be part of the puzzle?" Alsanna asked softly.

"Hmmm… Those bowls look like the kind of offering altars and alms dishes Lindelt Clerics use. Maybe we have to give a sacrifice of some kind?" Erik pondered. An idea came to his head and he turned to Benhart.

"Can you bring me one of those guardsmen? I want to try something." The Jugonan grunted and dragged a fussy Hollow over to the chef, who promptly slit its throat and watched the souls flow into the bowl-like altar.

"Huh. That seems like a really bad defense mechanism. I mean, anyone on this side, which would be the guys wanting to get inside, would be able to fill the bowl just by expending fodder soldiers during a siege," Erik said as a tiny white flame flickered to life in the bowl. It wasn't enough to open the doors, and soon the rest of the party were dragging Hollows over to the statues and offering up their souls.

"To be fair, only those branded with the Darksign are normally able to extract souls in such a manner. For most others the energy fades almost instantly," Alsana explained timidly. "Only Nashandra, Aldia, and of course Vendrick would have had souls strong enough to pull out other souls to fill the bowls and open the gates from this side."

"Huh. I guess that makes it a decent security system. As long as there aren't Undead around."

After a few more Hollows and Golems were sacrificed the white flames were bright and full. The doors creaked open the lid to a coffin, revealing a dark yet surprisingly well-kept interior.

"Who are you… And by whose permission do you stand before me? This castle is the domain of King Vendrick. Is your trespass intentional?"

A wheezing, elderly voice called out to the group as they stepped inside the foyer, Vengarl and Raime both jolting in shock as they stared at the speaker. Or rather, through him.

An old man in stately robes and possessing a luxurious beard was looking down at the large group from the steps leading to the audience chamber. He was also transparent and hovering a few inches off the floor.

"Chancellor Wellager?" Vengarl gasped, unsure if he was seeing things properly.

"Oh, is that you, Vengarl? I thought you'd gone off to the Cove on order of the king. Did you succeed in your mission?" the elderly man asked in a slightly condescending tone. His expression turned surprised though when he saw the towering form of Raime.

"Sir Raime, you have returned! Oh, it is so good to see the slander about you being a Hollow were all lies!" The ghostly man floated down towards the knight who looked on, bemused.

"You would not believe how things have fallen apart without you! The queen has begun ordering us all around for senseless reasons and the king has vanished! Not to mention Sir Velstadt refuses to tell me where he has gone!"

The chancellor's eyes fell on Erik who was standing awkwardly next to Mytha who was staring at the ghost in shock.

"Oh, Sir Donovan Potts, and Queen Mytha!" Chancellor Wellager fell to his knees, still hovering in place. "It is so good to see you both again! Please, come in, come in! If I had known you were on your way I would have rolled out the red carpet!"

As the phantom floated away Erik turned to his companions seeking an explanation. Shrugs were the only response.

"In the distant past, when the Abyss swallowed an ancient kingdom, it turned the souls of those it consumed into ghastly wraiths; blood thirsty ghosts who could not be harmed without tainted magic akin to what spawned them," Nadalia said hesitantly. "and Castle Drangleic has been the center of power for Sister Nashandra for many centuries now. Perhaps the energy has turned those who did not obtain the Darksign into similar entities?"

"But how does he not realize we're all Undead?" Erik asked as he watched the grandfatherly old man shouting into the air.

"I don't know. Maybe he can only remember what occurred before death and nothing more? He did call you by your ancestor's name," the Bride of Ash pointed out.

Any further conversation was cut off when a ghostly hoard slipped through the walls and floors. Maids, butlers, servants and guards, all pouring out into the foyer to greet their distinguished guests.

"Not to be rude, but we have someone to speak to. I'm afraid we have no time to waste," Elana said loudly, garnering the attention of the phantasmal host.

"And you are?" The chancellor inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I am Queen Elana of Shulva, here to see my sister, Queen Nashandra," the Squalid Queen of the Sunken Kingdom announced, whispers of shock and awe running through the ghosts.

Chancellor Wellager hastily bowed. "My deepest apologies, your majesty! Please forgive my ignorance for not recognizing royalty such as yourself! I shall escort you to the queen immediately!"

"Thank you, and you are forgiven, chancellor. Do not forgot in the future, though. Nor the faces of my sisters Nadalia, Duchess of Brume, and Alsanna, High Priestess of Eleum Loyce!"

Yet more gasps rang out and if it was possible for a ghost to become even paler, Wellager pulled it off. By becoming invisible.

"Right this way!" Chancellor Wellager cried out, swiftly turning visible once more and leading the party through several rooms, halls, and staircases until they reached a lofty part of the castle.

"Queen Nashandra resides in the Upper Audience Chamber, entertaining those Dragonriders from Heide. She has been most distraught recently. I'm sure the disappearance of the king has done her weak constitution no favors."

Elana and Nadalia snorted at that, only for Alsanna to chide them by smacking both upside the heads. For the other Undead it was amusing to see eldritch beings acting so human.

Well, for Erik, he'd always seen them as such. Humans touched by fathomless Darkness and not quite mortal, but human none the less. He smiled at their antics before his souls suddenly began to throb violently in his chest. He grunted, the discomfort growing as they neared the location of the final Daughter of Manus.

"So, my darling family deigns to show their faces to me after all this? How droll. Leave us, Wellager. I wish to speak to my 'guests' in private."

"At once, my queen," the ghost declared, swiftly drifting away.

Erik ignored him, focus firmly on the blonde hair woman who looked very familiar for some reason. She was sitting on a throne at the far end of a small hall, separated by a balcony so none could approach her without falling to their death if not carefully.

"You are Nashandra?" Benhart asked in surprise. The petite woman in question snapped her head to glare at the desert knight.

"I am. And that's 'Queen Nashandra' to you, worm."

"Shove it up your ass, sister," Elana said rudely, folding her arms. The glare from the blonde queen then settled onto her dark hair sisters.

"So you've chosen to side with the First Flame after all, then." Nashandra glowered before her stare landed on Erik who stepped back in fear.

Numerous souls were crying out against the woman. The Flexile Sentry, stitched together for her amusement. The souls of the people who made the Ruin Sentinels, butchered to create her unfeeling servants. The Last Giant, its own child stolen and tormented by the Dark One for her ambitions. All demanded justice.

"Why do you have blonde hair?" Everyone blinked, befuddle by the chef's out of place question.

"Pardon?"

"Your sisters all have raven black hair. Why don't you?"

"Dearest Nashandra is the embodiment of father's Want. And the one thing he wanted most before he died was our mother. That is why she looks like that. She takes on the form of the only woman to love him, and he in turn loved. Princess Dusk of Oolacile," Elana revealed, uncaring of the confusion her words caused among the uninitiated. But Erik and Benhart remembered what Nadalia had spoken of back at Shulva.

"I see," the cook said with a look of pity at the petite blonde.

"Don't you dare give me that look!" Nashandra roared, rising to her feet with coils of black mist rising around her. Everyone tensed.

"My apologies, Queen Nashandra," Erik replied. Remarkably, there wasn't even a single hint of sarcasm of disrespect. But that was to be expected. He had grown up in the Palace of Lightning as a servant. He knew how to hide his disgust.

"However, in regards to reigniting the First Flame, that is indeed my mission. So please, stand aside?"

Silence reigned, and everyone stared at Erik in various states of shock.

"Balls of Titanite," Vengarl muttered under his breath.

"If you can defeat my two knights, then perhaps I will concede to your request," Nashandra said slowly, the power around her fading.

"But it must be done alone, and without a single death. That is my one condition. Do so, and I will give you the run of the castle and you can try to achieve my foolish husband's dream. Fail, and I will have you all thrown out."

Erik nodded resolutely. A smirk crossed the lips of the blonde queen and she pointed down a nearby hall.

"They wait in the treasure room. Fight them. Now."

Saying nothing, Erik walked off to face the Dragonriders next door.

"They are two of the finest knights from Fallen Heide, who once rode Wyverns into battle! Despite having gone Hollow, their skills are as sharp as their blades! You will fall, and the First Flame will belong to me!"

Maniacal laughter echoed behind the chef, but he just strode onwards, drawing the Blade of Eleum Loyce and letting a Fireball flicker to life as he stood before the Fog Gate.

In the throne room, Nashandra waved her hand and the numerous mirrors flickered to life, showing the interior of the battlefield.

Erik grinned. It was time to show off that his training had been worth it!

.

\\\~~~/

 **Basilisk King Leather Armor:** ** _Armor made of the remains of a giant Basilisk, born of twisted Dark experiments. Grants impressive immunity to Dark and Petrification. Upgrades with Twinkling Titanite._**

 **Stats: 85 / 85/ 85 / 95 / 60 / 45 / 45 / 110 / 5 / 40 / 40 / 100 / 100, 70/70, 12 lbw.**

 **Beast Lord's Gauntlets:** ** _Gloves made of the remains of a giant Basilisk and the fur of giant saber tigers, all touched by the Dark. Grants enhanced resistance to effects of heat and cold while boosting the powers of Pyromancies and Cryomancies. Upgrades with Twinkling Titanite._**

 **Stats: 65 / 60 / 60 / 75 / 70 / 85 / 60 / 100 / 5 / 40 / 40 / 50 / 50, 50/50, 6 lbs.**

 **Beast Lord's Boots:** ** _Boots made of the remains of a giant Basilisk and the fur of giant saber tigers, all touched by the Dark. Improves Dodge Roll speed and distance while negating a small amount of Fall Damage. Upgrades with Twinkling Titanite._**

 **Stats: 50 / 50 / 50 / 45 / 65 / 60 / 55 / 100 / 5 / 20 / 20 / 50 / 50, 50/50, 6 lbs.**


	46. Chapter 46: Mirror Mirror on the Wall

_**Chapter 46: Mirror Mirror on the Wall**_

"I can't believe you pulled off that maneuver!"

"I know! And did you see when the archer hit his own companion because Erik slid under the legs?"

"That was awesome! But so was the moment when he tricked the swordsman to destroy the platform the archer was on, causing it to fall and impale itself on the ceremonial weapons below it!"

"But that wouldn't have been possible without Erik turning the floor icy with his Cryomancy!"

Erik hunched over with a crimson face as he walked along the hallway, his party all chatting excitedly about his remarkably one-sided victory over the Dragonriders. He could feel the shame of their souls that now resided within him, and the amusement from the first Dragonrider he had vanquished.

"My favorite part was when Nashandra's face turned purple! I haven't seen her look so poleaxed since that time she found out her lover Hurin the Handsome was gay!"

"I remember that. Didn't she burn down his kingdom when she found out?"

"Now I wish I hadn't won," Erik sighed in embarrassment as conversation and praise towards him continued.

Not to mention many of the ghostly servants had been watching since Nashandra's spell had influenced all the mirrors in the castle. So the wraith-like staff had seen his victory, and were now whispering about him as they phased through the walls and floors, the maidens blushing somehow as the men gave him impressed looks. They thought he was his ancestor, but still. Pretty awkward all the same.

"Buck up, Erik! You earned the praise! After all, you trained hard and won through your own skills," Mytha assured the chef. He gave the dark skinned giantess a weak grin.

Their path through the castle was relatively unmolested. Several traps and tricks simply let them through, and the Hollows had pulled back and did not bother the 'guests' of the castle and its queen.

The party was now on the way to the secret entrance to the Underworld, an ancient burial site from the days of the First Flame and the Lord Souls.

According to Nadalia, the font of knowledge in the group, this region was once the site of the shrine that held the Kiln where the First Flame was hidden and the entrance to the catacombs Nito, the God of Death, had ruled. Known as Firelink Shrine in ages long gone, it now was replaced with a new castle, which in turn had been built on the ruins of an even older building, and so on.

The souls of the King, Witch, Dragon, and Nito had been melancholy as they looked on at what had once been theirs, now all but forgotten and buried by countless other fallen kingdoms.

"Does anyone else hear singing?"

Benhart's question broke everyone out of the festive mood they'd been in, causing everyone to strain their ears. A faint, harmonic tune drifted through the winding halls, filling everyone with inexplicable melancholy.

"I too hear it," Vengarl admitted after a moment. "It also sounds very familiar. As if… but no, it couldn't be…"

"What?" Erik asked, sensing the hesitation in the Red Lion's tone.

"The last time I heard this song, it was being performed by a group of beautiful women whom had been contracted by Vendrick. And by 'contracted' I mean kidnapped. They were also not human. Rather, they were aspects of Death itself. The Milfanito, Daughters of the Crypt."

Erik blinked and felt Nito's soul stir. "That name… they were the ones Nito told me to find!"

"He did?" Nadalia asked, recalling when he'd obtained the Lord Soul of Death below the Gutter.

"Yes. His words to me were to find his sons and daughters, whom I'd recognize by their name. They are servants of death and their title has 'Nito' in it, so I have to assume these are them."

Then let us find this maiden!" Benhart said gallantly. Everyone else nodded with various degrees of enthusiasm.

The source of the singing was finally found, secreted away in the tallest tower of the castle and up an elevator only normal sized humans could traverse. Which meant only Erik and Benhart. And even then the Jugonan knight had to be careful to keep his massive sword inside at all times so it didn't damage the mechanisms, or the wall.

Finally though the pair reached the top and they stepped through to investigate the sound.

"Hello? Is anyone th- holy shit!" Erik gaped in revulsion at the sight before him. Benhart looked ill. A cage. Massive, and shaped like a birdcage, there was a thin brown haired young woman trapped inside, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer.

That was not what caused the chef to recoil and the knight to worry about his stomach.

Chained to the door of the cage was a… something. It was not a man, though it took the vague shape of one. It had no face, save for an empty slot where one should be. It groaned and moaned in time to the song the imprisoned woman sang, mournful and desperate and longing.

"What is that?" Erik whispered. He had come across many strange and foul things in his time in Drangleic. Giant rats. Giant spiders. Hollows stitched and smashed together. Beings deformed by Chaos and Dark alike.

But this? This was worse. It still seemed human. It still looked and sounded human. But it was not. And that made it so much more terrible to the cook.

"Oh, young travelers. It seems you have stumbled far to find me. And you, with my father's soul. Have you come to save me?" The voice was spoken to the pair, but it echoed in their minds instead of their ears. Erik nodded slowly, confirming the telepathic inquiry.

"If I can, then I will. But before that, please, tell me: What is this?" The chef gestured to the malformed being chained to the cage's door.

"That is a man who once loved us," the imprisoned Milfanito explained. "He was enamored with our song and our beauty. But he was a priest, sworn to celibacy and the gods."

The woman's voice became sad and her song echoed the change in emotions.

"A member of King Vendrick's court, the Master of Ceremonies, he feared giving in to temptation and so bound himself to this cage after locking us inside it so he could not touch us."

"Alright then, I'll just burn him and the door away and we'll get you out of here," Erik said, holding out his left palm where fires sprang to life.

"No, don't!" the Milfanito cried out. "His lust and madness twisted and broke his very soul! He bound himself to me, and should he perish or the door be opened without the key he made from his soul I would perish as well! And if I die, then the sorority is down to three, and my sisters would not be able to contain It."

"It?" Erik asked, pausing from setting the abomination ablaze.

"A Demon of Chaos, born in the days when the Bed of Chaos was first made, and hidden in the Dark ever since. It had gorged on souls and wallowed in Death. Only the song the four of us sing can contain it and pacify the countless lost souls."

"Then where is this key?" Benhart inquired.

"Lost, and then stolen by the Demon of Song."

Erik sighed. "And where is the Demon?"

"Do not worry unduly, young one," the Milfanito said with a smile. "Its lair is in the place you head towards: the Shrine of Amana, which leads to the Undead Crypt where our brothers stand vigil over Vendrick and the Others."

"Convenient," Erik said with a roll of his eyes. "Very well then. We shall find the key and free you soon."

"So, did you find her?" Mytha asked when the chef and knight returned. Erik nodded with a look of annoyance on his face. After explain what he had learned, the annoyance was plastered on everyone else's.

"A Demon from the days of the Witch of Izalith which has not only absorbed the powers of the Abyss but also that of Death? I had no idea something like that even existed!" Alsana said in shock.

"It would be unfathomably powerful," Elana agreed. "And to think these 'Milfanito' are the only thing that has kept it contained. Remarkable."

"So you've never heard of them before?" Erik asked, incredulous. Surely they'd have had to encounter each other before, right?

"We may be ancient, Erik Potts, but we do not know everything," Nadalia scolded as the group continued through the castle.

"Indeed. We have traveled far and wide, but generally avoided being close to the site of the Kiln which houses the First Flame," Elana explained. "It makes sense that if anything, that which we know not of would be under our very noses. And these children of Nito dwell where our sole weakness hides. It only makes sense for us not to know of them until now."

"They also seem rather reclusive," Vengarl added. "I only saw them a few times, usually when they were entertaining guests at a banquet. I only knew they were inhuman because I overheard other knights discussing that fact."

Raime grunted and nodded. He too only knew a little about the mysterious maidens. One day, they'd just appeared beside King Vendrick, and only he and Velstadt knew who they were and where they had come from. The king, enamored with the power they held and the secrets they represented, had ordered them to be detained. Vengarl was ordered to kidnap them, but he only obtained one. Not that the Red Rust Knight had tried very hard. He had morals, few that they were.

After a bit more traveling, the group found their way to what Vengarl claimed was the old arena and proving grounds. Guarded by animated statues, but they were easily dealt with. There was also a Fog Gate, which according to the mercenary was blocking a path to the ancient ruins the castle had been built on top of.

"The foe we face is a strong one," the rusted knight stated. "If nothing has changed, then this is where the Mirror Knight awaits. An odd Golem made by Vendrick and Aldia to test the mettle of the castle's knights."

"I want to face it alone," Erik said suddenly. Everyone froze and looked at the chef who had a determined glint in his eyes.

"I fought the Dragonrider's, but we can all agree they were not a true test of my skills," the chef explained. "If this being was used to test men like Raime and yourself, Vengarl, then I want to be able to prove I am worthy enough to continue on the path of the Monarch Candidate."

"You are worthy, though!" Mytha protested, everyone else nodding their heads. "You saved me and countless others through your wits and cooking, not to mention you wield long forgotten magic as if it was nothing!"

"I need to do this," Erik said firmly. "I need to prove this to myself, and the souls I carry. I know I'm not weak, but I'm not strong either. Luck will only carry me so far."

He stepped up to the Fog Gate and pressed a hand to it. "You can watch, but please, do not interfere."

His piece said, he let the cloying wet touch of the mist drag him through onto the other side.

The first thing Erik noticed was the rain. At some point the dark clouds overhead had disgorged their load, and thunder and lightning boomed and danced above while raindrops stained the stone arena.

The second thing Erik noticed was that his souls had gone quiet. Normally he could at least feel the larger egos of the more powerful souls in his collection at any time. Now, though, they were still and silent, as if respecting his decision to go into battle alone.

The third and final thing Erik noticed was his opponent. A tall man made of sleek silver polished to a reflective sheen, clutching an oversized long sword. In his left was a shield that looked like a mirror, while the face carved into the helmet of the Golem was a calm, handsome male face. It looked like a statue of an idealized hero standing ready to test other aspiring champions.

Behind him, his companions filed into the arena seats, watching in silence as he, a mere chef, faced off against a construct that had fought the finest warriors of Drangleic. Syan, Velstadt, Raime, Vengarl. And now, Erik Potts.

He gave a bow. The Mirror Knight returned it. Erik raised his twisted blade and his pyromancy filled hand. The automata entered a stance.

Erik made the first move, sending a searing bolt of fire at the towering Golem. It blocked it with its shield, rain hissing to steam upon impact. It then charged, swinging its sword in a wide arc that would have been easy to dodge if it was slow. It wasn't, and the chef barely had time to roll out of the way.

Erik followed up his dodge with another Fireball, but this one was aimed at the Mirror Knight's feet. It hopped back easily before darting forward with an overhead slash accompanied by a shield smash. Both were avoided, but left little room to do much else except back off.

So he did. The chef took a few steps back and hurled a large icicle at the Golem. It was blocked by the shield, but as soon as it happened Erik used the moment of immobility to dash around behind the knight and slam a Great Combustion on its back. It staggered but spun quickly, blade nicking Erik's cheek.

"Not bad. He moves like a veteran. Light, but with a heavy blow ready to go. Like lightning itself," Vengarl said approving from the seats.

"Indeed, the young man has done well under our tutelage," Benhart praised.

"But he won't be able to win against the Mirror Knight using such tactics," Elana pointed out, the martial minded companions nodding in agreement.

"What do you mean?" Alsanna inquired.

"The Mirror Knight is a Golem. It does not tire," Mytha explained. Being the wife of the Golem loving Iron King had given her a lot of info on them.

"Indeed. Animals and mortals will tire in a prolonged fight. Even Undead and Hollows become sluggish and weary in a drawn out battle. But constructs like Golems never grow tired, and never stop fighting. Erik will have to use his full might to bring this one down."

The chef seemed to know this as well, as he threw out more spells, both fire and ice, all aimed at keeping the Mirror Knight pinned down so he could get close and strike at it. The Blade of Eleum Loyce proved stronger and sharper than its brittle appearance led one to think, as it carved deep rents in the silvered armor.

The artificial knight seemed annoyed, but continued to block with its shield every attack. Until something happened. A shape moved within the glass. Erik froze in shock as something appeared in the large mirror and began to pound its fists against the glass as if it were a window, and not a mirror-turned-shield.

In the stands everyone grew quiet. Only Raime and Vengarl knew of this ability, the secret to the Mirror Knight's almost uncontested winning streak.

From the shield mounted mirror a pale, silvery reflection of Erik burst forth, sending spectral shards of glass everywhere as it was born into the world.

Erik was stunned. That was all the opening his foes needed. The large sword cut deep into his stomach while his double sprayed his face his flames.

Dodge fireball. Avoid sword. Fall back. That was all the chef could do now.

"Did you know it could do that?" Nadalia demanded, pointing in shock at the doppelganger of the kindly chef.

"Yes. It is the Mirror Knight's ability to create a clone of its foe, but only after it has fought them for a while," Vengarl explained. "I believe it was Aldia who gave it such a power. As you can see, the knight is no longer on the defensive. Now it knows its opponent's tricks and movements, and has a companion to double team the target. Only a truly talented warrior can win against himself. This is the true test."

People were on the edges of their seats. The ghostly staff had trickled in as well, and were cheering on the combatants down below.

Erik's foot slipped on the rain slicked stones, and the Mirror Knight ran him through, lifting him aloft as Mirror-Erik tried to incinerate the original with fire. Lots of fire.

But instead of looking defeated, Erik just smirked through the blood dribbling out of his lips. "Gotcha."

He raised his Fire Seed studded palm and unleashed a torrent of viscous, burning ooze that when it struck the Mirror Knight, began to corrode and eat away at the metal. It promptly dropped the chef who wasted no time in spinning on his heels and slicing the surprised head off of his double.

Mirror-Erik looked shocked before it shattered into pieces.

"So, Erik leaned Acid Surge. Did you do that, Nadalia?" Elana asked, curious and impressed at the resourcefulness of the young Undead.

Fire was easy. Ice was as well, once you understood the principle. Anything else was much, much harder. It was why most sorceries were blobs of raw magical power, and enchantments used a medium like Titanite to imbue special effects onto equipment.

Acid, though? Alongside poison and hardening the body, it was a kind of magic that was extremely hard to learn and master, even with a Spell Scroll to ease the process. It was one thing turning magical energy into another form of energy, like heat or the absence of it, but a physical embodiment of Entropy itself? Even Carhillion, a master sorcerer, would find such a thing difficult without years of practice before hand.

And Erik pulled it off flawlessly. Armor melted like wax before the Acid Surge, and the Mirror Knight was missing half of its face while a good portion of its upper torso was twisted and ruined by the potent magic.

"If you must know, it was I who taught Erik the spell," Mytha said proudly, watching as the chef gulped down some Estus before approaching the crippled but still deadly Golem.

"It's impressive. I didn't think he could pull it off after so little time practicing," Nadalia admitted.

"Erik Potts is a natural at understanding the more physical nature of magic, dear sister," Alsana said happily as her student wailed on the downed warrior, slowly hacking it to pieces with the fragment of her own soul turned into a weapon.

"Fire is heat, ice is its absence. He figured out the key behind Cryomancy all on his own, and partly by accident and luck. And when he understood the concept behind creating a wave of magic that dissolved all that it touched, Acid Surge and Poison Mist were no trouble at all to learn."

In the arena, Erik raised the Blade of Eleum Loyce over his head and stared into the remaining eye socket of the Mirror Knight. It did nothing, but Erik could swear he saw something glimmer eagerly behind the helmet. He drove his sword down, piercing the Mirror Knight where its heart would be.

A sighed seemed to escape the defeated automata, and a silvery soul popped out in front of the chef who accepted it as his prize.

WELL DONE. YOU ARE A TRUE KNIGHT, ERIK POTTS OF LINDELT. WALK WITH YOUR HEAD HELD HIGH, FOR YOU HAVE A TRULY NOBLE AND PURE SOUL.

The Soul of the Mirror Knight was like no other soul he'd ever encountered. Instead of memories, all he got was a rush of pride and a congratulations. If he was being honest, he felt kind of gipped.

"Well, the path is clear," Erik said to his companions as the arena was rocked with cheering ghosts. "Shall we continue?"


	47. Chapter 47: A Song of Chaos and Death

_**Chapter 47: A Song of Chaos and Death**_

 _ **.**_

The path was indeed clear, and the party of Undead and Dark Ones ventured deep into the mountainside which led into the depths of the underworld even as the storm raged and the ghosts of the castle's servants cheered.

It was a nice sendoff, in Erik's opinion, though not everyone else shared it. The Undead were a bit creeped out by the floating spirits. It's one thing to be a zombie, and another to be a dismembered soul hovering a few inches over the ground.

As for Alsana, Elana, and Nadalia, they were horrified by the conditions their sister had left her servants in. Nashandra had wanted to be surrounded by adoring, slavish followers, and so had bound their souls to her. They could never know peace unless she willed it, and many of the ghosts were forgetful and running on memories of their life, unaware of the fact they had become a very unusual form of Undead.

But that issue was for another day. Right now the party was delving into the ruins of Firelink Shrine which lay buried under the castle. And it was impressive to see the ruins still standing here and there.

Here and there vast stretches of roots encircled the stone, yet from what the adventuring group knew and had seen, no trees existed.

"Arch tree roots. Withered and ancient, but still intact," Nadalia breathed in awe as she ran her hand along one of them.

Erik followed her example and marveled at the texture. It was like rough marble, and deep within it, the chef could feel the root thrum with power. Neither life nor death touched this fragment of the world. It simply was, and would be. A mountain might become a beach over billions of years, yet this would endure beyond that.

With reluctance Erik pried himself away from the root lest he be lost within its globe-spanning memories and system. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his companions struggle against its allure as well, and succeed. He also saw Elana nod with approval.

"Impressive. More than anyone I know how tantalizing it must have felt, to be a part of something infinitely greater than yourself," the Squalid Queen said softly. "In my true form I am closer to an Arch tree than any of my other siblings. Even the Giants can only envy my connection to them."

"Why don't you?" Everyone turned to Vengarl when he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Why don't you give in? I once knew the bliss of peace when I was in the Lost Woods for so many centuries. I only overcame it through outside influence. What keeps you from slipping?"

"Knowing that if I ever did give in to their siren call I would lose what mattered," Elana said, looking at her sisters with a warm smile on her face. It then flattened out into her usual neutral expression.

"But enough lollygagging. We need to move."

And move they did. Through the root wrapped tunnel the team marched, and soon they came to an impressive sight. A towering cliff and a crumbling tower from a bygone era which leaned against the stony edifice, both of which overlooked a vast, underground lake with a single hut, barely visible down below through the murk and gloom. Indeed, only flittering little glowing bugs, mushrooms, and wisps of souls energy illuminated the depths.

"Someone actually lives here?" Benhart asked, surprised at the light that could be seen coming from the hut.

"I don't think so, Benhart. Don't you feel that odd, emptiness to the air? Doesn't it remind you of that woman, the Milfanito?" Erik asked. The Jugonan blinked before nodding slowly.

"Yes, I see. Or rather, I feel it. You're right, this is definitely the same presence, but much further off. I suggest we venture down and pay whoever lives there a visit."

Agreement was reached, and everyone carefully inched their way down damp stairs. They the bottom and found themselves facing a shallow part of the lake. The hut had been built on a sandbank in the waters and a few lumpy shapes could be seen languishing in the mud. Plus, a faint, angelic singing could be distantly heard in the stillness of the cavern.

"What are those things in the water?" Mytha asked, taking a step forward. Only to spin around to the right of the entryway of the tower and sidestep a blow from a silvery Lucerne.

"Mytha?!" Erik shouted in concern.

"I'm fine!" the former queen retorted before blasting the assailant with a Heavy Soul Spear. It impaled the foe and slew it, leaving its corpse to be examined by the group. Erik's jaw promptly fell when he saw what it was.

"That's a Dragon Cleric of Lindelt! What is he doing here?" The armor and equipment was unmistakable to the chef, for he had seen these same men standing guard around the Lightning Palace back when he'd been mortal.

"He's Hollowed, from the looks of it," Mytha said, gingerly removing the helmet to reveal rotted flesh. "And has been for a while."

"Did Lindelt ever have diplomatic relations with Drangleic?" Benhart queried, looking over Erik.

"Almost all of the mainland kingdoms had some form of tie to the Land of Gods," Erik revealed. "Even Lanafir would send the occasional dignitary. Maybe he was a guard to one such person and got lost?"

"There could be many reasons for this, and none of them matter at the moment," Nadalia cut in. "They are just another obstacle to be removed."

Erik sighed but nodded. "Agreed. Let's move. And try not to poke whatever is in the mud unless it attacks us."

The dark skinned Queen of Alken rolled her eyes but shouldered her spear all the same.

They were not accosted by anything as they made their way to the hut, though Erik could vaguely see a few more silvery figures far off in the gloom.

The singing grew louder, and when the team reached the hut they found the door was unlocked, and let themselves in.

It was a hovel. A nice place to live long ago, but now the walls and roof leaked, the furniture rotted, and anything valuable had been looted ages past. However, sitting in the front room as if none of the decay mattered or bothered her, was a young, brown haired woman, eyes closed and singing a song of peace.

"Hello, travelers. I am one of the four Milfanitos. You met my sister, who had been imprisoned, yes?" She spoke to them in their minds, and the chef and knight from Jugo nodded.

"It is good to know she is safe. Please, rest if you wish. I have little to offer, I am afraid."

"It's quite alright," Benhart said magnimoniously, with everyone else nodding.

"Can you tell us what to expect up ahead?" Erik asked.

"Ruins, mostly," the woman said dryly. "A few Hollows who stumbled here, seeking one treasure or another. And of course, my other two sisters and the dreaded Demon of Song."

"What of the Clerics?"

"Dispatched by the Church when the Darksign first began to rampage across the world. Ancient scriptures spoke of this place as a shrine to a goddess of life, but Amana has been gone from this world for several cycles. They found naught but Death."

The cook winced but nodded in understanding. "Before I forget, I met your father."

The Milfanito sat up straight and nearly stopped singing in her shock.

"He wanted me to tell you that it was 'Time to open the First Coffin,'" Erik relayed. Nito's soul throbbed happily.

"That is the most joyous news I have heard in a very long time, Chosen One, or I suppose Monarch Candidate for this cycle," the seemingly young woman said with a rapturous smile. "Go and find the eldest of our brothers, Agadyne of the Fenito. He will know what to do."

After a bit of a rest the group bid farewell to the woman and headed deeper in the underground realm of the Shrine. Strange, mutated lizard-Hollows wallowed in the water, watching the group but not attacking. The music combined with the firefly-like beetles somehow rendering the Undead docile. Even Erik, Benhart, Vengarl and Mytha could feel the effect, the cursed brand on their flesh much less painful and the ever present numbness mitigated slightly.

The Dark Sister too felt a modicum of peace and tranquility, but knew that to linger in this place would render them comatose like the Hollows the Milfanito's song ensnared. It would take a while, but it would happen. And that worried them. These women were aspects of Nito himself, not unlike how they were of Manus. Perhaps if the quintet of Darklings had met these children of Death earlier, a lot of grief could have been mitigated.

More Clerics barred their way, but despite their skills, each of them fell. Sand and water sprayed about as the Undead clashed. Erik was only slightly shocked to see that he could now handle the legendary knights of his homeland in a one-on-one battle. Drangleic had definitely changed him.

Another tunnel found the Undead confronted by a bunch of Poison Horn Beetles, which had the chef giddy with delight. He always had time for quality ingredients.

Erik had then squealed in delight when they found the largest Poison Horn Beetle ever seen by anyone in the tunnels later on. Erik and Benhart had attacked the poor thing while wiping drool from their lips. It barely had time to cry out in fear before it was laid low and harvested.

He even sampled a few of the glowing mushrooms, since Donovan's tome claimed they were safe to eat with proper preparations.

Not that it was all pleasant. Another cavern had held a number of old temple-like ruins and a bonfire, but was completely swamped with vicious Hollows and a few Orges.

The Hollows were assholes plain and simple, tossing out Sorceries every time one of them popped the tiniest bit out of cover, and their white robes seemed to absorb and reflect a lot of Mytha and the Dark Sister's magic, forcing Benhart and Vengarl to perform insane suicide charges to clear them out.

At least the Ogres were as easy to handle as Erik remembered. That is to say the chef led them on a chase then killed them by tricking them into falling into the deeper parts of the lake and drowning. If they tried to swim, he just froze their limbs and used them as target practice.

"Rather brutal," Vengarl said in approval.

"These things are disgusting and stupid. I mean, I killed two of them by tricking them to fall off a cliff, and another of them killed itself by slipping in some mud and falling on sharp tree branches," Erik said as he watched the bulk of the last beast sink below the dark waters.

"I've cleared out the white robed Hollows!" Benhart cried, hefting one of the Sorcerer's on the end of his sword like the corpse weighed nothing at all. He flicked the Hollow into the lake and watched with grim pleasure as it too sank.

"Good. Let's move on," Elana said with a contemptuous sniff as her glaive bisected another Lizard-Hollow.

They trudged through knee and waist high freezing water and several more sorcery spewing Undead before reaching a circular shrine area. After wiping out the Hollows Vengarl shouted in surprise and removed something from the water.

"What is that?" Mytha asked, awed, while Elana looked impressed.

"This is my Red Rust Twinblade!" the Crimson Knight of Forossa declared, holding up the double-bladed weapon. "I'd loaned it to a friend before I went off to the Brightstone Cove!"

His expression turned grim. "Does that mean Felicia came down here? But why? And if she left it down here…"

He began to walk around, looking at the ground, searching for something.

"Erik, can I borrow your White Soapstone?"

The chef nodded and handed over the item, watching with confusion as his friend held it up. Soon enough, a white glow blazed to life and a name appeared on the ground near the entrance to the area.

"Oh, Felicia," Vengarl said sadly, touching the mark and watching as a White Phantom rose up.

What appeared before them was a woman, clad in heavy armor with a massive tower shield on her back and a great sword in her hands. She took a step back in shock when she saw Vengarl before rushing forward and throwing her arms around him.

"Yes, it's me. I have finally returned." Though his head was covered, it was clear the man was trying not to cry as he held the phantasmal woman. The woman, Felicia, had no desire to hold back her tears, and glittering motes of light dripped down into the water.

None of the group dared to interrupt the pair's long overdue reunion.

After a moment they separated, the two smiling sadly at each other. She pointed at the Twinblade, then at Vengarl.

"Yes, I'm glad to have it back, but more than that I'm regretful it had to be in this way that we see each other again," Vengarl said. More gestures and the knight snorted.

"No, I did not fall asleep on the job again. Duke Tseldora was indeed experimenting on his people. One of his projects took my head clean off."

Felicia gasped then gestured some more.

"Yes, I am Undead now. But that is not why I did not return. To be honest, I was only a severed head for the past few centuries. Only a friend of mine managed to reunite my separated halves."

The warrior-woman looked over, saw Erik, gasped again, and made another flurry of gestures.

"No, that is Donovan's descendant, Erik. Yes, I know he looks like a weak noodle, but he has proven himself. He is the Monarch Candidate after all. But enough about me, what are you doing down here?"

The woman reluctantly made some hand signs causing the Red Rust Knight to grit his teeth and clench his fists.

"That bastard did what?!"

"What is wrong, Vengarl?" Nadalia inquired.

"Felicia was down here as part of the knights sent to accompany King Vendrick and Velstadt in their journey to the Undead Crypt. But that chime-waving scumhat told Felicia that she was not worthy enough to continue onward and had to stay here, fending off the Hollows and acting as a sacrificial rearguard!"

Raime growled angrily and everyone felt anger flicker inside them.

"Velstadt did that?" Mytha hissed.

"He always was a misogynist," Vengarl spat. "But Felicia was one of the best knights! Trained by Syan himself, she was supposed to be his successor before Mr. Right Hand got all uppity."

Growls went around and Felicia nodded unhappily. A few more gestures and the red armored titan sagged his shoulders in sorrow.

"This Summon Sign… she laid it down with her last breath. She did her duty, but…" He looked away, unable to continue. She reached up and patted his arm with a soft smile.

"I'm sorry I was not here sooner, Felicia. If I had known…"

She hugged him, cutting off his rant, and he finally let tears fall as the angelic voice of the third Milfanito sang in the distance.

"Come with us, Felicia. One final battle for old times' sake," Vengarl pleaded, and the warrior-woman nodded and hefted her sword with an eager grin.

With a new companion the group headed on, reaching the next Milfanito. They hurried to her position, and found her inside a stone gatehouse gasping with every breath in front of a Fog Gate.

"Miss, quick, use this!" Erik said, handing the woman an Ancient Life Gem. She took it gratefully and sighed in bliss as its powers washed over her.

"Thank you. Being this close to the Demon's power has drained me. When the king came through, they disrupted our seals and it slipped out. We were forced to corner it here, but sadly it now blocks the entrance to the Crypt. I fear you will have to vanquish it to proceed."

"We've faced Demons before, my lady. This one will be no different," Erik said confidently.

"You have confronted immature Chaos-spawn, but never a true Demon," the Milfanito warned. "And this one has drunk deep of the Darkness and Death that lingers in this place. Be wary when facing it. If you perish to its song, you will have no second chances."

Vaguely unnerved, Erik none the less squared his shoulders and stepped up to the Fog Gate, his companions behind him. Passing through, the chef readied the Blade of Eleum Loyce.

As he stepped into the stony arena, Erik gagged on his fear and bile when he saw what awaited them. A frog. A massive, bloated thing that looked not unlike the tadpole monsters from Shulva, but larger and with defined forearmed. It turned to the intruders, unblinking beady eyes staring at them as they entered. On its back a strange key-shaped blade had been jammed into it, thought it didn't seem to actually be hurting it.

"Doesn't look so tough," Benhart remarked.

Then it opened up its 'mouth' and revealed a second head, this one resembling a skull, with two longer and paler arms poking out. Everyone recoiled in disgust and fear at the sight. They'd all seen weird things, but this was just nasty.

Erik blinked, and felt something wet running down his neck. He raised his left hand and ran his fingers over the skin. They came away dark with Undead ichor.

He opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn't speak. He tried to move, but his limbs rebelled against him and he toppled headfirst into the floor.

Suddenly, pain! A screeching symphony struck his entire body, every nerve screaming in agony and his bones creaking under the sonic assault. In the corner of his eye he saw everyone else screaming and writhing on the ground as well, except for Felicia and the Dark Sisters. They weren't much better though, staggering around and clutching their ears.

Eventually Elana raised her glaive pointed it at the frog demon. Blessed silence fell and the Demon of Song reached up and pulled its 'head' over its skull. It hopped up and began to charge but was countered by Felicia and Nadalia who slammed into it, halting its movements.

"Move, move, move!" the warrior-queen shouted, and Erik could finally hear noise again. "I cast Muffle but it won't last for long!"

"What was that?!" Erik gasped out as he staggered to his feet.

"The damned Demon lives up to its name! Its voice is a sonic weapon! So loud it cannot be heard, but it still causes catastrophic damage to everything nearby!"

"It's definitely mutated, and for the worse," Alsanna agreed, shifting into her true form along with her sisters.

"Huh?"

"Song Demons are just demonic frogs. Dangerous as all Demons are, but their only ability is to mimic voices and other sounds, thus luring and misleading prey. But this one is ancient! It has evolved beyond its original powers and become capable of using its voice to kill. The only reason we weren't immediately all pulped is because our supernatural and Undead bodies took most of the damage," Nadalia explained to the addled warriors.

They quickly rose and began to attack it, but their blades and spells did nothing. Its hide was even more impenetrable than the two-headed spider's had been, and that had taken a giant stone pillar and a supercharged magic sword laser to cut through it.

The Blue Moon Greatsword's magical blasts faded into nothing upon its blackened hide, and Mytha's spells shattered useless upon it. Vengarl's bloody blades couldn't scratch it, and Felicia's sword bounced off.

"It has to have a weakness!" Erik shouted in frustration as his Cyromancy failed to leave an impact. It was also annoying having the Witch's soul laughing in joy at her monstrous 'child's' growth.

Just then it's 'lips' parted and the skull was revealed again, and everyone fell to their knees as the klaxon slammed into them. Elana's Muffle was still mostly intact, but it was fading rapidly under the assault.

' _Attack now!_ '

Erik didn't even think or question the seductive voice that came to his mind, he just thrust his hand out and let a gout of flames rush at the hideous frog. And shockingly, it hurt the Demon! The creature screeched and immediately retreated into its 'flesh,' hiding the skull which now sported a noticeable burn.

"The insides! Its insides are the weak point! We have to open it up!" Erik cried. He then smirked as a dreadful idea came to him. "And I even have a plan."

He gathered up his friends and quickly outlined what they had to do, their words hidden by an additional Muffle and the frog-thing kept at bay with a few spells tossed towards it. After a moment his companions all grinned maliciously before turning to the Demon.

It had been a long time since the Demon of Song had felt fear. Not since it had fought that life goddess down here had it experienced a thrill of terror rushing through it. Now this motley crew seemed intent on doing what even the goddess could not. Destroy it.

Raime opened the attack with a roar and jumped, grappling the giant frog and wrestling it to the ground. It resisted, hopping around and smashing into the stone formations around it, trying to dislodge the Dark stained knight. But Raime endured, his grip only tightening.

Elana and Mytha were next, helping to keep the limbs pinned while Raime forced the Demon to stay still under his weight. The rest piled in after that, leaving the 'mouth' alone.

As for Erik, he stepped up, a sneer of madness on his lips, and the Demon trembled. For a moment, it thought that it saw a glimpse of its Mother flash inside the human, but its attention was forced back onto the Undead as he set down the Bottomless Box and removed something from within.

"You know, I had wanted to save this for a special occasion," Erik said conversationally as the Demon of Song thrashed about. He closed the lid of his magical chest before facing the monster and holding up a clenched fist.

"Grey Death Chili Peppers, imported from Lanafir and kept fresh inside this Bottomless Box," Erik said, looking at whatever he was hiding in his hand.

"One ounce of this stuff is worth 10 golden coins, or in today's market, 50,000 souls." Jaws dropped from his human companions and Erik's smirk turned razor sharp.

"Yes, this is one of the rarest and most valuable spices in the world. A pinch of it can preserve any meal made with it for a year, and it is said that a Lanafirian king who embalmed himself with the stuff remains in pristine condition to this day, over a thousand years later."

"But that is not all. It is also the hottest edible in the world. Nothing short of literal lava is as burning, and even then just barely. In fact my flesh is literally melting just holding this tiny handful."

Erik tilted his head and gave the Demon of Song a terrible smile. "I wonder what five raw ounces of this stuff would do to you?"

The chef rammed his left hand onto the 'lips' of the Demon, and watched in satisfaction as the smeared Grey Death Chili Pepper Powder caused it to open its mouth and scream in pure agony. He then rubbed the rest of the spice onto its skull-face, and laughed at it couldn't make any more of its sonic attacks.

"Chili peppers are so spicy because they react caustically to the nerves in a person's body. The taste buds are the most sensitive of them all across all beings, and it seems Demons are no exception. And the reason why you cannot make a peep anymore?" Erik taunted as he drew his twisted helix shaped sword with deliberate slowness, his companions shivering at his sadistic side.

"When the tongue and lips come into contact with chili peppers, they swell as the acids inside the plant react painfully to the softer and tender flesh. And since the tongue and lips are part of how sounds are shaped, when they're swollen regular vocalizations cannot be made," Erik said, before pressing the tip of his sword against the skull.

Golden light flickered in his eyes as he stared at the Demon, and ancient abomination silently screamed as it saw its Mother watching its demise with a sick glee. And all the while a fathomless Flame burned inside the young man's soul.

"You are a mockery of Life. Burn."

Erik shoved the sword into the monster, and unleashed every drop of Pyromancy he had into it. Golden flames erupted from the sword and rushed into the Demon's mouth, immolating it from the inside out. So powerful were these flames that they began to rupture the dark flesh, and Erik's companions hurried away lest they be caught up in the inferno.

From the sidelines they watched in awe as the Demon of Song was utterly destroyed. It soul, a sick, bloody red and orange thing, appeared briefly inside the blaze but was devoured by the gilded flames that raged. Never again would it rise.

Only the key remained, miraculously unharmed by the eldritch flames.

Erik panted loudly as the energy left him, and he collapsed into the water as the strange magical flames started to die out. And later, they would all swear they saw an extremely beautiful woman with raven hair and mismatched eyes staring out at them from within the dying blaze before she too vanished.

"Well, that was… new."

"Indeed it was. You are definitely something special, Erik Potts," Elana praised. "The First Flame did well in choosing you as its champion."

"Is this going to be a thing with you? Pulling out brand new powers every other major battle?" Vengarl griped, though his inflection was joking. The chef shrugged as Mytha coddled him in her bosom.

The Red Rust Knight laughed before turning to face Felicia, who smiled sadly. The Fog Gate was dissipating, and with it, the magic that bound her was broken. Vengarl snapped a salute.

"It was an honor to fight alongside you one last time, Felicia the Brave. May we see each other again in the future."

The warrior-woman snapped a salute of her own as she started to fade, her powers draining away. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she mouthed final words to the large man before pointing to a ring on her right hand.

"…Yes. Maybe in another life we can fight with each other again. And love each other again, as we never could in this one. Goodbye."

The room grew a little bit darker as the White Phantom left them for good.

 **A/N: In Dark Souls 1, the Gold Coins you can find and feed to Frampt are worth 5,000 souls each. I used this as the basis for the currency conversion. Since Maughlin and the other merchants use souls for trade, what decides the conversation ratio? This is my take on Dark Souls economics.**


	48. Chapter 48: A King's Grave

_**Chapter 48: A King's Grave**_

 _ **.**_

"This is the Undead Crypt?" Erik inquired in disbelief. Shrugs went around, some of them more lethargic than others.

"According to what we know, this is the place," Elana said.

"It certainly looks better maintained than I thought it would," Benhart pointed out, looking over the intact structures that had been built deep underneath the earth. They all had a very antique feel to them, as if they designs were from a long forgotten era. None of his souls recognized them though, not even Nito. That made the Monarch Candidate wonder if they'd been based on a civilization after the Lord Souls existed.

They had come across this area after exiting the pit the Demon of Song had claimed for itself. With a heartfelt thanks from the Milfanito echoing in their minds they had delved deep and finally reached the legendary burial grounds of the Gods themselves.

"Nadalia, are you alright?" Mytha suddenly asked, making the other Undead look over to that particular Sister of Dark. She was leaning against Raime for supported, a pained look on her face.

"I'm fine," the Bride of Ash said dismissively. Raime grunted at that.

Now that Erik looked closer, the other two sisters seemed weak as well. Alsana was trailing behind their group slightly while Elana had a grimace on her face.

"You don't look good. Any of you. Is something affecting you?" Vengarl inquired.

"Maybe," Alsana said reluctantly. "Ever since we entered the Shrine of Amana we've felt weaker. At first I thought it was because of the proximity to the First Flame. But now, I'm not sure."

"The music of the Milfanito's resonated with our souls, and it felt calming," Elana picked up. "I think this is a back-up defense, one we never knew of. In the old tales and what little memories of our father we retain, the Soul of Death was far more subtle than the other Lord Souls, but effective in creating barriers and sealing away certain forces and influences while also controlling the cycle of life, death, and rebirth."

"So, because you're shards of Manus, which is sort of like death, Nito's children have power over you?" Erik guessed as they progressed slowly through the Crypt.

"Partly correct, young Monarch Candidate."

Everyone spun around to face the speaker, and found a very pale, grey skinned man standing in an open area of the temple. He wore strange robe-like armor and had a long katana slung over his back.

He bowed when the group's attention fell on him. "Greetings, all of you. I am Gravewarden Agadyne of the Fenito. Our sisters informed us of your arrival. I must thank you for clearing out that wretched Demon, it had been interfering with the communications between us."

"Not a problem, we were glad to help," Erik said politely, returning the bow.

"As for why your Dark companions feel weak, it is indeed partly a result of the Soul of Death fragments father made us with," the Gravewarden stated. "Death comes for all things, and is not bothered by Light or the lack thereof. In ages past, it was Nito's duty to oversee the process of souls entering the afterlife but now that is done by the First Flame and so his mission changed to protecting the new cycle."

"New job? Wait, you mean Nito was a god before the First Flame gave him the Lord Soul?" Erik asked as the pale man escorted the group through the depths. Hollows were driven off by silver and grey clad warriors similar in appearance and feel to Agadyne.

"Not exactly," the Gravewarden hesitantly. "It is hard to explain, and I know very little of it due to father having perished and passing his knowledge on to us."

"Put simply, Death was always an aspect of reality, but the First Flame defined it and gave Nito a form and a purpose. He had been more akin to a, well, a middleman I suppose."

"I'm not going to lie and say I understand," Erik admitted, several other heads nodding. Agadyne looked thankful.

"That is perhaps for the best. Matters of Life and Death are complex enough without involving external influences such as the First Flame and Gods." He ushered the team into a circular room where a table and chair had been set up.

"Onto other business then. I assume you are here to retrieve Vendrick, or at least the key to entering the First Flame's throne room?" Agadyne inquired, offering the group tea. They accepted with various degrees of eagerness. Only to find the liquid refreshments were amazing!

"Is this Wilted Dusk Herb?" Erik asked, smacking his lips.

"Steeped in pure spring water and sweetened with a hint of honey harvested from the Grave Fireflies," the leader of the Fenito said with a smile.

"Amazing! So refreshing, I can feel my body bubbling with magical power!" Mytha said in appreciation. The rest nodded while the Dark Sisters looked to have recovered from their fatigue.

"Good. The tea is what we offer to guests so the powers of the Crypt do not overwhelm them. Death is silent and ever present, and with the remains of the Gods buried here the aura of this place crushes the weak quickly and without mercy."

"Every god?" Erik asked, his fellow Undead leaning in closer. It then occurred to Erik that his companions didn't know about the truth of the Flame and the countless cycles.

Seeing the chef's concern Agadyne waved his hand and the other bearers of the Darksign froze in place.

"Do not worry, they will not realize any time has passed and will forget about the beginning of the conversation," the Fenito assured the cook.

"As for your question, yes. In the end, every God finds their way down here to be buried. Even those whose souls were broken and consumed." He shot a look at Elana and bowed his head politely. "If you wish to pay respects to your husband, I can lead you to Faraam's tomb."

The Squalid Queen nodded with a depressed expression but quickly hide it as a trail of floating will-o-wisps appeared, all but beckoning for Elana to follow them. She rose and hurried off, her siblings sharing concerned looks.

"Even Nahr Alma? He is down here?" Erik then asked, remembering the bloody god with a grimace.

"Ah yes, our most recent divine guest," Agadyne said drily. "His tomb recently formed."

"Why did King Vendrick come down here?" Nadalia asked. Before answering Agadyne allowed the other Undead to regain their senses.

"He sought to cower in fear of his wife," the Gravewarden said with a snort. "He knew our powers could keep her away, and due to her nature as a Jealous being she would not ever send anyone down here lest they steal what she sought for themselves."

"Pansy," Mytha stated and Benhart nodded.

"To be fair, Nashandra is rather terrifying when she's angry," Vengarl said in defense of the king before looking around. "Speaking of terrifying, where's Elana?"

"She wanted to visit the tomb of someone she once knew," Nadalia said softly. Sensing the mood from her tone they wisely said nothing, even if they were curious as to why they had not noticed the Queen of Shulva's exit.

"So, where is he?" Erik asked, leaning in and trying to get the meeting back on track.

"Vendrick lies in the Antechamber, Hollowed and guarded by his broken Right Hand."

Raime growled and Vengarl cracked his knuckles. They both knew what they planned on doing to Velstadt for all his wrongs.

"Hollowed?" Erik gasped.

"Indeed. Still, he is very powerful, so approach him at your own peril," Agadyne warned. "Regardless, I will lead you to where he is and you may do as you wish."

"You care not for him anymore? I thought he was a guest?" Alsana asked, surprised by the Fenito's dismissive attitude.

"He refused our council and advice, and Velstadt was a paranoid fool who poisoned his mind against us while also trying to convince Vendrick to hand over the key to the Throne of Want to Nashandra," Agadyne said with a hiss. "Their protection extends only so far, now. Plus, the Monarch Candidate has come to us, and brought word of our father."

He then turned to Erik and nodded. "We will prepare the First Coffin for when it is needed. When you reach the First Flame and the Throne and are ready to reignite it, the Children of Death will be ready for your choice."

"Thank you, Agadyne, for your help and hospitality. I look forward to seeing you again," Erik said. "I will also remember the recipe for this tea, it is simply sublime!"

After a few more cups, a group of Fenito escorted Erik and the crew through the Crypt, disabling traps and pushing aside the Hollowed Knights of Syan. Though Raime and Vengarl were saddened by the state of their former comrades, they gritted their teeth and clenched their weapons, ready to avenge them with Velstadt's death.

"Here we are, the Antechamber where Vendrick awaits," Agadyne revealed, pointing to a Fog Gate with his katana.

"Erik, do you think you could allow Raime and I to handle this?" the Red Rust Knight asked, a pleading note in his voice. The chef nodded firmly, fully aware of their grievances. Still, he wanted to witness this, and joined the pair at the misty portal.

The trio slipped inside, all of them shivering at the ever present chill. Inside the room which was littered with pillars, they found a tall armored man about the same size as Raime who was clutching a massive mace-chime, waiting for them.

"Hello again, you bastard. I'm here for Felicia," Vengarl snarled, raising his machete-like sword and shield.

Raime groaned his displeasure towards the one who had driven him from his king's court and readied his two blades. For Erik, he stayed in the back, watching but prepared to jump into action.

"So, the barking dog returns with the traitor on his tail. How cute."

The trio jerked in surprise. Velstadt could talk? Then that meant…

"You're not Hollowed?" Erik gasped. The Cleric-Knight laughed darkly.

"Of course not. Why would I be?"

"Well, um…"

"Do you even know what the Curse of the Undead does, and why we go Hollow?" Velstadt asked, entering a battle stance. When none spoke, a smirk creased the giant knight's face.

"Of course not. So let me enlighten you!" He lunged, smashing his mace down and sending out a shockwave of Dark energy that caught the group off guard.

"You see, Undead go Hollow through two reasons: numerous deaths which chip away at their Humanity, or losing their hopes and falling into despair. So when an Undead experiences neither of these, they do not, cannot, go Hollow!"

"How could you not lose hope?! Trapped down here, alone and isolated, your king gone mad," Erik cried, dodging a few black orbs as Vengarl and Raime traded blows with the Cleric-Knight.

"So what if Vendrick fell and went Hollow? My only duty is to guard the king, and if he chooses to die and go Hollow, then that is his choice. All I have to do is protect his body, not his mind."

"You've clearly lost your own!" Vengarl retorted, scoring a deep cut on Velstadt's legs. "Can't you hear yourself? You don't care that your liege is a wreck, and you're clearly using Hexes instead of your Miracles! You're not you anymore!"

Raime roared in agreement, smashing Velstadt into a pillar, shattering it. But the cleric shrugged the damage off and resumed attacking. Blasts of Dark magic were shoved at the two knights who barely managed to fend them off.

"I am me, and only me! This is my duty, and I have done it for seven hundred years! You will not interfere!" Velstadt screamed, swinging madly. He suddenly dropped to one knee, ducking under Raime's swing as a golden aura surrounded him.

Erik could see the Cleric-Knight's wounds healing, while his own companion's damage lingered. He drew the Blade of Eleum Loyce without hesitation and ran at Vengarl and Raime, using his swords unique healing properties to restore them.

"Thank you, Erik!" Vengarl praised, a cruel grin appearing on his face as Velstadt looked surprised by the sudden aid. The Right Hand's eyes turned onto Erik and his gaze narrowed.

"You!" He tried to attack the chef, but was blocked by Raime catching the mace with his giant Dark stained sword.

"No." Erik and Vengarl blinked in shock at the first words they had ever heard the Left Hand speak, and the dark blue colored knight drove his second sword into Velstadt's ribs, causing the Cleric-Knight to gasp in pain.

Vengarl took advantage of his distraction and swung his heavy blade down in a cruel arc.

"Aaarrgh!" Velstadt cried, staggering back without his right hand or his mace. The sharp Red Rust Blade had cleaved through bone and metal with contemptuous ease.

"That was for Felicia!" Vengarl barked. He rushed forward and slammed into Velstadt with his shield, causing his foe to fall to his ass with Raime's sword still stuck in his ribs.

"What is this?! You were never this strong! Either of you!" Velstadt howled indignantly.

"Recently, Raime and I were like you trapped in a single place protecting and languishing. But someone came to us, and forced us to man-up and get back into the fray. We now fight for the future. You, though? You've stayed stagnant down here, locked away in the shadows," Vengarl said, leering down at the fallen Right Hand. He placed his machete on the Cleric-Knight's neck as Raime did the same with his massive sword, forming a cross.

"You were once the strongest of Vendrick's men, but like your lord, you have fallen into ruin. And now, your sins catch up with you. All your arrogance, your mistreatments, your corruption, and your blackened soul have brought us to this moment."

"No, that's…!"

"Pay for your crimes with death!" Vengarl shouted. His blade and Raimes' slashed and bit deep. A helmeted head rolled to the floor, staring up at the ceiling in shock.

As the Fog Gate faded Vengarl's shoulders sagged and Raime bent his head low.

"Vengeance… is complete. May you rest in peace, Felicia." Raime grunted as well, and the rest of the group entered, eager to confront Vendrick together.

Meanwhile, Erik patted the Red Rust Knight's back. "You did a good job, my friend. I'm sure she's proud of you."

"Thank you, Erik. That means more to me than you know." With a sigh, Vengarl turned towards the other side of the Antechamber, where scraping and moaning could be heard. "Well, let's go say hello."

"So this is Vendrick, ruler of Drangleic and King of Souls?" Elana said in disgust as she gazed upon the decrepit husk of a man striding in circles around the room he was in.

"I am not impressed," Alsana said with a sniff. Her Ivar had been far greater. And much more handsome!

"Does anyone know what we actually need from him? What does this 'key' even look like?" Erik asked, trying not to look at the shambling wreck of a man before them.

The fallen king hadn't even noticed them, and the fact that he hadn't raised a Fog Gate made everyone wonder how deeply Vendrick had fallen into Hollowing.

"You need his ring, the one he wears on his right hand." Everyone turned to see Shalquoir sitting behind them, calmly licking a paw.

"Um, hello, Shalquoir. Not that it isn't a pleasure to see you, but how did you get down here?" Erik inquired.

"I'm a cat, dear. We go where we please." Nods and mumbled agreements greeted that statement.

"I suppose the next question is 'why?'" Mytha said. The immortal cat-spirit suddenly looked worried.

"I need your help," she said, standing up. "Shan- I mean, the Emerald Herald, is in danger. She needs assistance!"

"What happened?! Is Majula safe?!" Erik cried.

"The town is fine! However, she's not there. She went somewhere else."

"Wait, she can leave?" Benhart asked, surprised.

"Of course! She can do her job anywhere there is a Bonfire. She just chose Majula because it is very close to Things Betwixt, the entryway to Drangleic for many Undead, and she felt it would be the best place to wait for the Monarch Candidates," Shalquoir explained.

"Then where did she go?"

The cat shot the chef an annoyed look. "Your words to her at dinner resonated with her in a way I have never seen before. I don't know why, but she went back to a place that nearly broke her in order to retrieve an item you need to complete this journey."

"Where is that?"

"Beyond the manor of Duke Aldia, in the fortress-prison of the Dragon's Sanctum. It is where that bastard tortured her."

Erik hissed in shock and his souls thrummed. She had gone back to her personal hell for him? His heart beat wildly for some reason.

"She needs help! And the only way to reach her is to use the Ring of the King to bypass the seals Vendrick placed around his brother's property!" Shalquoir revealed.

"Then we need the ring!" Erik said resolutely, his companions all nodding. They might not know the Emerald Herald very well, but she was one of the few people they knew and liked and wasn't a bumbling monster. Of course they were going to save her!

They all turned towards the Hollowed king, who suddenly froze and shivered in fear for some reason.

The Soul of the Last Giant crowed in delight.


	49. Chapter 49: Rescue Mission!

_**Chapter 49: Rescue Mission!**_

 _ **.**_

Though Vengarl had lived a long time and fought countless foes, he would be the first to admit he had never seen anyone set on fire then instantly frozen. Or that when said person was on fire, the flames were frozen as well, creating bizarre shapes and making a mockery of the known laws of magic and nature.

No, Vengarl had never seen anything like it, and that such a sight had come from the smallest member of their party only clinched it as being in his Top 5 Most Amazing Battle Scenes.

"So, you have the ring?" Shalquoir asked, flickering her tail. Erik nodded, and held out the rather small accessory carved from Titanite. Upon the surface the emblem of Vendrick's court had been carved, and a faint hum of magic nestled deep inside.

The chef was wearing it on his left hand, and he could feel his Fire Seeds reacting to the ring's power. In a good way. The innocuous piece of jewelry had been forged inside the First Flame, and the flames inside Erik's palm recognized their primogenitor.

Erik had also ripped the crown from Vendrick's head at the Sister's urging. He could feel its power throbbing deep in the metal, seeking out the essence of the other crowns he possessed.

"Very well then, we must hurry. I will take you to the bonfire and direct us all to the closest exit to Aldia's mansion. The seal used by Vendrick can only be opened by his ring, so there's that problem solved." The talking cat spared a look at the frozen remains of the King of Souls and winced.

In a burst of power that made even Gods look puny, Erik had single handedly vanquished the legendary king. Burnt to a crisp with Pyromancy then frozen with Cryomancy, what remained of him was a charred black shape trapped in sparkling blue ice with strange red and orange distortions trapped here and there.

The chef had become so powerful as to freeze fire itself. He was not to be underestimated. And all that power displayed when he learned about a threat to Shanalotte's life.

"You must be very eager to save your paramour," Elana said with a nod of approval.

Erik blushed. "She's not! She's just a good friend."

Nadalia, Alsanna, and Mytha rolled their eyes in the background while the Squalid Queen peered at Erik suspiciously, as if trying to see if he was joking or not. A look of disbelief slowly crept onto her expression, and she shared a look with the other females of the party. As one, they all snorted and uttered "Men!" before following after Shalquoir to the Crypt's bonfire.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Monarch Candidate Potts," Agadyne said with a bow as he greeted the party.

"The same to you," Erik said with a polite nod of head. He stepped up to the bonfire and reached out to it, feeling the powers within coil about his body.

"I shall prepare what father asked of us. When the time comes to light the First Flame, we shall be ready."

"My thanks," Erik replied a trifle indistinctly, focused on the mission at hand.

"I know that Donovan and your mother are very proud of you," the Gravewarden said under his breath, the chef barely detecting it. His head snapped around to stare at the Fenito, but swallowed his desires and looked back into the flames.

"Let's go," Erik said softly and the cat nodded. Mystical flames consumed the group, and they went rushing across time and space to be deposited in a very family spot, at least for the chef and Benhart. It was the old ruins near the Shaded Woods where they had encountered Creighton, and where the group had marched through to reach Castle Drangleic.

Heart aching with the memory of the soldier from Mirrah, Erik looked around for Shalquoir. Spotting her near the entrance they had not gone through before, Erik felt a twinge of pain as souls within him clamored.

"Aldia is down that way?"

"His mansion is. Where he performed outrageous experiments on unwilling souls, seeking to ascend beyond what was possible," Shalquoir said sadly.

She led through the area, the landscape becoming bleaker the further they went. Even the plants and earth recoiled from the demesne of this wretched man.

At length they came to a large, black gate, wrought from solid Titanite and inscribed with the emblem of the royal family of Drangleic; a massive tree with roots wrapping around a flame.

"Use the King's Ring to open the way," Shalquoir commanded, and Erik oblidged. Raising his right hand to show the simple ring to the gate was enough, and it creaked open, revealing a dead, twisted woodland with a mansion in the distance.

"Impressive fortifications. How do they keep someone from going around the long way, though?" Mytha asked, looking at the superb craftsmanship of the structure.

"This is one of Vendrick's greatest creations; artificial Fog Gates." The talking cat's words stunned the group as they entered the area.

"I know not how he did it, but Vendrick was far more attuned to souls than people realize. Somehow, he was able to emulate their ability to seal of regions of space inside specially crafted materials. In that way, even if someone were to climb or fly over, or just go around another way, they would find themselves back here at the gates. Same for trying to leave. They'd wind up trapped inside, unable to escape. A bonfire might work, but would be fickle at best."

"Fascinating!" Nadalia murmured, her sisters nodding in agreement.

"Let's go, we don't have much time to waste," Shalquoir said. They all hurried after that, simply ignoring the gremlin-like creatures that prowled the dead grass around the duke's home.

The mansion itself was vast, and nestled against the mountains that made up the eastern border of the continent of Drangleic. Few knew what lay beyond them, for the skies and crags were ruled by Wyverns and lesser drakes, while the land was roamed by trees that walked like men and other strange monsters that kept even the largest armies out. The seas were also not an option, for whirlpools and storms wracked the waters.

"This way!" the cat ordered, bounding up the stairs to the mansion. Caged wagons rattled ominously, but they were ignored.

A giant, headless dragon skeleton lay before them, but it was ignored. Another King Basilisk and a bunch of Ogres and white robed hollows? Plowed through and slaughtered.

"Where exactly is the Emerald Herald?" Erik asked, looking around the stained and darkened cells and chambers with disgust. His souls screamed in hatred and pain towards the demented duke.

"To the duke's secret laboratory, and the place I freed her," Shalquoir explained as they ran towards what appeared to be a massive aviary.

Inside, past a Fog Gate, a bright red Wyvern waited for them, snarling as they entered. But to the beast's immense surprise, none of the puny creatures before it quailed in fear. Even the group before this one had been worried about facing the lesser dragon that had guarded the domain before it had. Instead, these visitors were talking among themselves.

"So, who wants to kill it?"

"I took on an Ancient Stone Dragon, so none for me, thanks. It wouldn't nearly be as amazing if I did it."

"Can I be the one, then? I haven't killed such a creature in ages."

"Are you going to suplex this one too?"

"I've never fought a flying foe before. This could be fun."

In the end, Erik and Mytha were the two to challenge the impure Dragon, the rest standing on the sidelines.

"You aim for the wings with your sorcery, and I'll keep the flames off you. When it's down, we'll both go for the head!"

"Got it!" The former Queen of Alken exclaimed, shooting off a volley of Soul Spears. The Wyvern dodged easily and released a burst of flaming breath, but the stream of fire was diverted away by Erik who was manipulating the attack with his Pyromancy.

"Now!" Erik cried, and Mytha released a painful Soul Shower that shredded its wings. Instead of plunging to its death though, the Wyvern latched onto the lattice walls with its talons, acting more like a lizard than a noble descendant of draconic stock.

"Take this!" the chef called out, raising a hand and freezing the metal it clung to. Finding its perch colder and more slippery, the Wyvern tumbled down onto a handful of Heavy Souls Spears that gouged chunks out of it.

"And now, for the finishing blow!" Working in tandem, Erik and Mytha rushed the fallen beast and plunged their weapons into its head. The brain was pierced, and the creature trembled before lying still.

"Excellent! Now, everyone, help me butcher the carcass! With this I can finally make one of Donovan's Divine Dishes, Dragon Steak!"

"Do we really have time for this?" Shalquoir asked as she watched the Undead and Dark Ones descend onto the Wyvern's body like a swarm of lesser beasts that tore it apart.

"Shalquoir, when else am I going to get a chance to obtain prime Wyvern meat?"

The Memory Watcher just huffed and waited, inwardly hoping that the chef would cook it up for dinner soon. As much as she loved Shanalotte, she was still a cat. And cats liked their food.

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\\\~~~/

.

"How long had Aldia kept this place hidden?" Erik wondered in awe. At the moment, he was stepping off the elevator that had taken them to the tops of the peaks the mansion nestled against. His companions were just as shocked, at least, though who were on the lift with him and the kitty merchant. It wasn't big enough for many people, so the rest would be coming up shortly.

"A long while. Shortly after his brother was crowned king, in fact," Shalquoir admitted, looking over the vista. "Here, where the Wyvern's roost, he found an ancient palace, seat of the original gods, and claimed it as his own. Of course, such arrogance was not taken lightly, as the keeper of this place was not amused. The two have fought ever since."

"Do you mean the Darksun?" the chef asked, and Shalquoir nodded.

"Youngest and last remaining child of Gwyn, he had sat in this place since the First Cycle, even as it crumbled around him over the ages. But Aldia was strong, and had a connection with Dragons and their kin. He used the Wyverns to drive away the Darksun and his court, but they have tried to reclaim their home ever since."

"What was this place called?"

"Anor Londo."

As Shalquoir spoke, Erik's soul burned, the gods within him recalling the name with fondness and loss. But most of all, whispered conversations drifted to his ears from the depths of his soul.

"…If not for me, what beacon would there be in this lost city? Am I lonely? Not at all. I have my master, my Darksun. What more would I want?"

"…Oh-ho! So you bested those knights, I see. Not bad, not bad. Here, have this ring. What? No, I'm not sad. What do you mean, don't hold back the tears?! I resent that! I merely look like an onion, not act like one! I mean! Gah!"

"…M-my tail! Please stop touching my tail! I don't care if it's the fluffiest thing you've ever felt! Please- ahhhn~! No, not there~!"

"Oh my, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had feelings for me?"

"Erik, are you alright?"

"Huh, what?" Erik asked, jolting out of his daydreams. He looked over to see Benhart looking worriedly at him, the rest of the group all assembled and ready to tackle the rickety bridges and Wyvern infested peaks.

"Yes, I'm fine. Caught up in memories, I think."

"If that's all, then we must make our way to the palace up ahead. I can sense the Emerald Herald near one of the inner courtyards," Shalquoir revealed.

"Do we really have to cross these bridges?" Vengarl asked, looking at them apprehensively.

Raime and Benhart nodded. They would not support their weight. Not for long, at least.

"Yes, we must," the magical cat said in an annoyed tone.

"Couldn't we just grab one of those Wyverns and fly to it that way?" Mytha suggested, watching one of the lesser drakes perform aerial displays.

"No! Are you crazy?! They're dragonkin! They'd never let you ride one! Even the Dragonriders of Heide had to trains years for that! Impossible!" Elana argued.

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\\\~~~/

.

"I cannot believe this is happening!" The Squalid Queen cried out, clinging to Vengarl. Both of them were on the back of a lithe red Wyvern, riding it into the distant ruined city.

"I know, isn't this amazing?!" the rusted knight called out.

In fact, all of the group were riding Wyverns. In defiance to Elana's knowledge, Erik, Mytha, and Nadalia used a Pyromancy known as Undead Rapport, but modified on the spot to tame animals. It had taken a lot of effort and power to bend the mighty drakes to their whims, but now they were cruising through the sky towards ruined Anor Londo, where the sounds of battle could be faintly heard as they drew closer.

On a wide platform hanging off the edge of the structure that was led up to by a long staircase, a vicious battle was unfolding. Large, ruined suits of armor lay about, evidence of ancient Golems smashed to pieces earlier.

Amid the carnage a gargantuan dragon roared and batted at the countless foes that swarmed it. At first the Lord Souls throbbed in surprise, but settled down for some reason, the Pale Drake even scoffing in disgust at the being. The chef wasn't sure why the words 'fake' echoed in his mind, but he ignored them, peering down to check on the other combatants.

About a dozen Blue Phantoms were down there as well, fending off nearly a hundred people in dragon-shaped armor or the white robes of Aldia's acolytes who tossing Lightning Spears. The blue protectors were in a circle protecting five non-Phantoms, most of them fairly familiar…

"Is that… Lucatiel and Rosanne?" Erik asked, peering down into the melee.

Indeed it was, the Knightess of Mirrah swinging her blade alongside the dark skinned Pyromancer. There was an unknown figure in nigh identical armor to Lucatiel as well as an oddly familiar feminine form clad in brass armor, and the four were working with the Blue Phantoms to protect none other than the Emerald Herald, who was hunched over protecting something in her hands.

"We need to get down there!" Erik cried, a sudden pang of terror rising in his soul at the thought of losing her.

"How?! None of the areas nearby are open enough to land!" Mytha shouted back from her seat behind him. A mad plan appeared in the chef's mind, and he grinned wickedly.

"Follow my lead!"

"Wait, what… Erik, don't you dare!" Mytha shouted, staring in shock as the chef angled their Wyvern downwards towards the steps.

"No, no, no, no!" the former queen squealed, clenching her eyes tight.

Down below, the combatants paused briefly as a shrill cry from a Wyvern echoed about. Not uncommon up here, but this one seemed rather close…

A Dragon Knight on the edge of the battle on the stairs looked up, eyes widening in the helm. Before it could cry out, almost a dozen tons of raw muscle and scales slammed into it.

Erik had forced his Wyvern into a kamikaze attack, smashing it into the ground. Of course, he did not go down with his steed. That would be silly. Instead, Erik, dragging Mytha by the arm, had jumped from the back mere seconds before the Wyvern crashed.

Sword drawn and Cryomancy crackling in his hands, he landed amidst the stunned Dragon Knights and gave a jaunty wave over to Lucatiel and the Firekeeper.

"Lovely day for a rescue, isn't it?" Behind him, more shrieks could be heard as his companions refused to be shown up by their leader and did similar fool hardy maneuvers to reach the platform.

In the shocked silence Shanalotte began to laugh, softly at first, then louder, with tears streaming down her face.

"Took you long enough!"


	50. Chapter 50: Party Crashers

_**Chapter 50: Party Crashers**_

The shell-shock did not last long, and the Dragon Knights and golems lunged towards the new arrivals. That was their first mistake.

Erik waved his left hand almost contemptuously, and a wall of fire erupted beneath their feet, immolating some and sending others flying back. Golden flames popped here and there, sucking the armored forms into a bonfire.

Erik narrowed his eyes at that. These people weren't Hollowed?

"I hate you so much!" Mytha shouted, blasting out sorceries at the Golems, toppling them. In the midst of the skirmish a half dozen more Wyverns plunged down, smashing into the ground and unloading their Undead and Dark riders. They quickly joined battle, sending the remaining Dragon Knights into a frenzy. Upon seeing the Daughters of Dark they focused all their effort into attacking them.

That was their second mistake.

Erik thrust out his hand, and fifteen Dragon Knights were frozen solid. A massive Fireball appeared in the chef's hand afterwards, and he tossed it at the icy knights, shattering and melting them in the ensuing explosion. The explosion from the Flash Freeze spell dealt even more destruction, which an entire section of the fortress crumbling away and plunging down the mountainside.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the Dragon Knights began to retreat. The Blue Phantoms began to fade, so Vengarl Raime, and the Sisters of Dark chased after the impressively armored figures, hunting them down through the crumbling fortress.

"We'll take care of Aldia's remaining servants, you make sure everyone else is alright," Nadalia ordered before nailing a Cleric with a Fireball. Erik just nodded, hurrying over to the Emerald Herald and her group.

"Erik!" Lucatiel cried, throwing herself around the young cook in a massive hug.

"It's good to see you, Luca," Erik said happily.

"Indeed it is! Come here! Group hug!" Mytha crowed, wrapping the two smaller figures in a crushing embrace.

"So, this is the man who've pledged yourself too, Luca?" The other masked Mirrahian knight commented dryly. At his side Rosabeth giggled as she clung to his arm.

"Ah!" Lucatiel shouted, disentangling herself.

"Erik, Mytha, allow me to introduce you to my brother, Aslatiel of Mirrah. Aslatiel, Rosabeth, meet Erik Potts and Queen Mytha of Alken."

"A pleasure to meet you," the male swordsman said, bowing politely. He reached up and removed his mask, revealing a handsome, rugged man with brown hair and stubble on his chin that only added to his appeal.

"Thank you, Sir Potts, for taking care of my baby sister. I'm glad she had someone to look after her out in this dreadful place."

"No problem at all. She's a precious friend, and I was glad to have her sword at my side."

Lucatiel squirmed slightly at the praise, causing her brother to chuckle.

"I must be honest, I never expected such a daring rescue," Rosabeth stated, sending a glance to the broken forms of the Wyverns.

"Oh, that was an application of a Pyromancy Nadalia taught me," Erik said dismissively.

The dark skinned Pyromancer's eyes lit up and she darted forward and grabbed Erik's hands.

"Teach me teach me teach me!" She pleaded, hopping up and down.

"Um, sure, I guess," Erik stammered, leaning back from her enthusiasm.

"Please excuse Rosa, she's a bit of a magic-maniac," Aslatiel supplied, causing the woman to pout.

"Just like Carhillion," Erik agreed. Rosabeth tilted her head at that.

"How is my teacher doing?"

"Good. Eccentric, but good. He keeps asking to dissect my left hand to figure out the secrets of Cryomancy."

"I saw that! That was amazing! I've always thought it was possible for a Pyromancer to wield ice through reverse application, but no one has ever succeeded before!"  
"If you are quite finished," a dry voice called out. Everyone turned to the brass armored knightess, who shouldered a large, curved blade that looked like it had eyes branded onto its edge and walked over to Erik and his crew with the Emerald Herald in tow.

"Greetings, miss. I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage. May I ask your name?" Erik said with a bow.

"As usual, a womanizer to the end. I weep for the poor souls who have fallen for you," the knightess declared, ignoring his request. Off to the side, Shanalotte and Lucatiel shifted uncomfortably.

"Um, I'm sorry?"

"You should be."

Erik looked down at his feet, unsure of why he felt so bad. As if he had been scolded by a close friend.

"How did you know where I was?" the Emerald Herald inquired, stepping forward.

Glancing up, Erik noticed that the object she held close to her chest looked like a pulsing grey soul, and it sang with power that made the souls in his own body sigh in nostalgia.

"Shalquoir led us here, she said you were in trouble," Erik explained.

"She did?" the Last Firekeeper muttered, surprised.

"Was it really so strange that I would not bring you your knight in less than shining armor?" A familiar sweet voice called out, and the talking cat they all knew and loved sauntered forward.

"Greetings, honored Watcher," the brass knight declared, bowing her head politely.

"Greetings in return, Darkmoon Knightess," Shalquoir replied before rubbing up against Shanalotte's leg fondly.

"How did you get here so fast? You didn't want to ride the dragons with us," Mytha pointed out.

"I walked. Just because you lot were too much of a bunch of scaredy-cats to brave the rickety bridges doesn't mean I had to be a wimp."

"You were just scared to fly on the Wyverns," Mytha retorted.

"Focus!" Shanalotte cried. Everyone shuffled their feet in embarrassment.

"Now, Erik, this is what you need to obtain the final piece of the puzzle," the Emerald Herald claimed, holding out the flickering grey flame-like object.

"This is the Ashen Mist Heart, the pinnacle of Aldia's experiments in Time Travel," she revealed. "Created from fusing the soul of a giant with the soul of a Firekeeper, and bathed in the essence of the First Flame, it can allow you to move into the past for short periods of time. And this is the only way to recover an item hidden by Vendrick to reach the Throne of Want, and thus, the First Flame."

"Amazing," Erik whispered, reaching out for the altered soul.

Before he could touch it the Darkmoon Knightess lowered the giant blade in front of him. Everyone tensed, staring at the mysterious woman. The massive dragon growled menacingly. Erik gave the monstrous being a sidelong look before focusing back on the brass woman. He could question the dragon-thing later.

"Not yet," she stated. "We have to wait for the rest."

"Who?" Mytha demanded, gripping her spear tighter.

She was replied by a pointed finger towards the approaching Sisters of Dark, and the other warriors.

"Erik, get away from her!" Elana shouted, bringing up her giant glaive. Her siblings also brought out their weapons.

"What's going on?" the chef cried, looking from the angry Dark Ones to the brass woman.

"She's one of the Darksun's loyal servants!" Nadalia claimed.

"Be at peace, I am not here to fight," the Darkmoon Knightess claimed. She did not lower her weapon though.

"A likely story!" Alsanna retorted, glaring at her.

"Enough."

The voice that called out from nowhere sounded young and childish, but slammed into everyone with powerful force, enough to bring the group to their knees.

Only the Darkmoon Knightess and the Dark Sisters remained standing, though they shook from the pressure.

In the middle of the platform, a swirling portal tore itself open and from it emerged an elegant figure in white and gold.

Purest white robes gilded with gold, while wearing a golden headdress shaped like a sun burst. In their hand was a golden scepter, and it radiated magical energy. What drew the eye most were the dozens of serpents that pooled from beneath his robes, acting as his feet.

"Gwyndolin," Erik whispered as he stared at the figure, memories that were not his own rushing into his mind.

A loving father who was so proud, and so sorry for what he had been forced to do to save his youngest child.

A doting fiery Godmother, who wept with shame at what her powers had wrought upon the poor child.

A jolly skeletal uncle who was proud of how far Gwyndolin had come, and how he had endured the loneliness of immortality.

A pale Dragon who snorted with begrudging amazement at how powerful the failure had become.

And lastly, a Chosen One who had been the Last God's only friend wept with joy at seeing him one more time.

For some reason Erik felt tears dripping down his face as he looked up at the immaculate figure.

"It has been a while, Daughters of Manus," The Darksun stated, giving a polite nod of his head towards the trio. He continued to walk forward, ignoring their hostile silence.

"You have grown up well, Shanalotte," the God, for what else could he be, said to the Emerald Herald, who could not meet his gaze.

At last, the Last True God stood in front of Erik, who was still kneeling on the ground.

"Hello again, *&!%."

To everyone's shock and confusion he bent down, wrapping Erik in a tight hug.

"I have endured, as you requested, my first and only friend," the Darksun whispered. He released the chef and stood, smiling kindly down on him.

"You achieved your dream, I see. Good for you."

"I don't understand," Erik whispered back, unsure of why his eyes continued to cry.

Instead of explaining, Gwyndolin took the Ashen Mist Heart from the Emerald Herald and held it out to Erik.

"Take it. Obtain your past, reveal your destiny."

Hesitantly the Undead chef reached out and grasped the flickered soul-flame.

As his fingers touched it he collapsed to his knees, mind and soul suddenly assailed by visions.

He found himself before a bonfire that was set in a circular room with a steep staircase leading down to a Fog Gate. In front of it, Erik could see a man with messy black hair sitting in front of the swirling portal on a purple and gold rug. He was dressed in tattered, makeshift armor with a ratty cape. At his side the same weapon the Firekeeper wielded lay. A name floated into Erik's mind.

' _Server_ ,' the weapon was called.

"Hello again, Gwyndolin."

"*&!%. Hello. I sense that you finally have all of the Lord Souls." From beyond the door the Darksun's voice echoed forth.

"I do. It was hard, but I endured."

"I am so, so sorry you must do this," Gwyndolin wept, the sorrow and regret clear in his voice.

"Don't be, Lin. This is my choice. If it leads to my death, so be it. At least I finally did something worthwhile with my life."

"We can find another way! Frampt and Kaathe are just two of the Primordial Serpents! There are others, and thus, more ways to fix the First Flame!" Gwyndolin cried, anguish in his voice.

"If they have not shown themselves now, then they either do not care, or side with the Kingseeker or the Darkbringer. There is no other choice at the moment. Maybe if we had more time, but..." the dark haired man trailed off.

"We do have more time! All the time in the world! Don't do this!"

"If I don't do this, then everyone else's sacrifices will be in vain!" the young man shouted, slamming his left fist onto the ground and sending out gouts of flame from the contact.

"Crestfallen Sam, Apprentice Griggs, Fireseeker Laurentius, Bighat Logan, brave Siegmeyer, kindly Rhea, sunny S-Solaire," the man's voice broke at the last name, and Erik felt unfathomable sorrow stab into him.

"If I don't link the First Flame, I will be betraying their memories. Their lives. Their deaths. I won't do that. I can't do that."

The man in front of the Fog Gate rose, grabbing his blade and bowing towards the unseen god.

"Take care of the world for me, Lin. And, if possible, please reconcile with your niece. Priscilla does not deserve your scorn. The woman I love deserves better than that."

"I will. I promise. I will never forget you, *&!%," the Darksun wept.

The brown haired warrior nodded in thanks before turning around and walking up the stairs.

Erik remained stock still, unable to move. He was too busy staring at the face of the person in his memory.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Not-Erik grinned a familiar cheeky grin as he stood in front of the chef.

"Hello, me."


	51. Chapter 51: Revelations and Giants

Chapter 51: Revelations and Final Steps

"Who are you?" Erik demanded.

"Did you not hear me? I am you. Or rather, your past. A pleasure to meet me. I am the God of Peace, he who was the first to reignite the First Flame."

"Why can I not hear my own name?" Erik asked.

"Because you are not me. Not anymore. We share the same soul but you have your own life to live. If I let you hear our old name, you would regress and become me, instead of staying you. It is a kindness."

"Alright," Erik said slowly, not fully understanding. The world shifted, and they were in an amazing throne room. Not-Erik was now on the gilded seat, staring down at the chef who stood in front of him.

"Why am I here?"

"Just to give you a warning, and some free advice," the God of Peace declared.

No more did he look like a copy of Erik. Now he was a towering figure of raw power, his brown hair had grown longer and was more like flowing amber, while his eyes glowed gold. He wore gold and purple clothes fit for an emperor, with magical rings on each finger of his hand.

"First, the warning. Aldia has become the ash and soot of the First Flame. If he kills you, there is no hope of the restoring the First Flame. He will flood the world with Void should he win, and the world will end. No more souls, no more reincarnation, no more salvation."

"Void?"

"The twisted, perverted form of Dark," Not-Erik explained. "Light beget Destruction, Life beget Chaos, Death beget Occult, and Dark beget Void. Aldia has become so drenched in the Abyss he has become the representation of its greatest evil potential."

"What is your advice, then?" Erik asked.

"Light the First Flame with Love," the God of Peace said. "If malice lies in your heart the world will be dyed with it. But should you light the First Flame with love in your soul, the world shall reflect such positivity."

"That's… very interesting," Erik said slowly. "I'm actually kind of surprised there are no cryptic messages or vague explanations that leave me more questions."

"Frampt and others may love that sort of bullshit but not me," Not-Erik snorted. "Clearly explaining why something should or should not be done just makes more sense. I have never understood why some prefer that run-around rigmarole. It makes everything worse in the long run when people need clear guidance but don't receive it."

"Well, alright then," Erik said. "Can I ask something else?"

"Sure," Not-Erik said with a shrug.

"I was led to believe that Gwyndolin was hostile towards the Sisters of Dark. Why was so mellow when he met them?"

"I can only assume that since three of them were with you and directly opposed to Nashandra's machinations he's decided to leave them alone. For now."

"Is that all?" Erik asked, confused.

"Yup. Have fun reaching the end game. And remember, live for yourself."

The godly version of Erik waved his hand and the chef felt himself swallowed by light.

\\\~~~/

"Ouch… my head feel like someone tried to drive a Lightning Spear through my skull," Erik groaned. Eyes closed, he reached out as he rose from where he lay, only to freeze when his palm encountered something soft.

"If I open my eyes, will I find myself groping a woman?" Erik wondered out loud.

"Yes, you will. Release me or die."

Erik quickly snapped his hand back, cold sweat on his neck. Opening his eyes, the chef found himself looking into the face of an annoyed Emerald Herald.

"Sorry," Erik squeaked. "I didn't mean to!"

"I know. It's the only reason I'm not tossing you off the edge."

He heard a snort of amusement from nearby, and turned his head slightly to see Mytha struggling to contain her laughter.

He found himself in a rather small and unfamiliar room with a bonfire in the middle. Behind him was a pair of large black doors not unlike the ones that had sealed off Aldia's manor, and in front of him in an open courtyard was a twisted tree that looked like a dead Giant.

Looking around, the Undead chef saw everyone else was nearby as well, minus the brass armored woman and Gwyndolin.

"Where'd he go?" Erik asked.

"The Darksun left after you passed out. He wants you to know that the journey is almost finished," Shanalotte said. "Elana and her siblings were surprised when he did nothing to antagonize the Sisters. But we're not looking a gift horse in the mouth at the moment. Afterwards, we decided to move you here."

"Why? Where am I?"

"Welcome back to Castle Maranja in the Giant's Forest. It's where the Last Giant was held, waiting for Monarch Candidates," Shanalotte explained. "As for why, you must use the power of the Ashen Mist Heart to obtain an artifact from the past."

"Oh. Is that all?" Erik deadpanned, earning a snort of laughter from Vengarl.

"Oh, it gets better!" the Red Rust Knight cackled. "None of us know what the item is, only that it is held by the King of Giants, whose corpse rests right in front of you!"

The chef's gaze drifted to the dark and mangled tree-Giant.

"So I have to go back in time to steal something from an ancient, gigantic warlord? Who, I might add, hates humans? And knowing my luck, that heart-soul thing will drop me into the midst of the battle, where I will have to fight said ancient, gigantic warlord for the unknown artifact?"

Everyone nodded their heads and Erik bit back a scream of frustration.

"Since you absorbed the Ashen Mist Heart, you can now travel through time if you use its power on the corpses of others," Shanalotte explained. "But only for those who have incredible powers, or you possess their soul."

"So I could travel back to meet the gods that dwell inside me?" Erik questions, putting a hand on his chest in curiosity.

"Probably not. Time travel is imprecise, and would need a strong connection to the past and lots of energy. As old as the Lord Souls are now, it'd be useless to try and travel back in time to meet the previous owners," Nadalia explained.

With a grunt Erik stood up from the ground, looking intently at the Giant King's corpse.

"Hey, Erik, what did you see when you touched the Ashen Mist Heart?" Mytha asked, her curiosity reflecting that of everyone else.

"I saw… me," Erik replied cryptically.

Ignoring their peeved expressions with only a tiny smirk on his lips, he approached the tree-body.

"Hmm. Alright, so, what do I do, just put my hand on the bark…?"

As soon as his fingertips brushed over the oddly warm surface, a sucking sensation struck the cook, and he felt his body fade, his entire frame vanishing into motes of grey light.

Everyone shared a look. After a moment Aslatiel reached into a pocket, pulling out a deck of cards.

"The name of the game is 'Strip Poker…'"

\\\~~~/

Erik found himself in a strange, grey-hued realm. It looked like the battlements of the castle he had stood in moments before, but now new and mostly unbroken.

'Mostly' being the keyword because massive stones and balls of fire were raining upon the walls of the castle as Giants battled against the puny human defenders.

"This is brutal," Erik muttered, holding down his bile as a knight was smashed under a crude club. There were only three Giants on the walls, but one of them was massive and wore a crown while carrying an impressively large sword.

The chef took a few tentative steps out, feeling the Last Giant's soul keen soulfully as it stared upon its king.

As if hearing the soul's words, every single massive, cyclopean holed head turned towards Erik.

He froze, especially when he realized he didn't have his sword or armor with him. In his coma-like state, someone must have stripped his equipment from him. His Fireseed remained, though. Not that it'd do much.

As he trembled, the King of Giants strode forward, pushing his subordinates out of the way, leaning down to face the tiny human who had the soul of one of his own.

"You… have the Darksign… and reek of Time Travel…" It groaned out in surprisingly articulate Common. Erik nodded. It tilted its massive head to the side as if listening to something.

The chef could feel the Last Giant's soul doing something, but could not comprehend it.

"Noble Enkindler and reincarnation of the God of Peace, I, King Jeigh of the Giants, greet you," the towering lord said suddenly, bending his knee to the stunned cook.

"Um, thank you," Erik said slowly.

"My daughter speaks highly of you. From the moment you stepped on the Monarch Candidate's path, she has watched you, and approves. Take this. Relight the First Flame."

A ring was pulled off the king's hand, which shrunk as it was tossed to Erik. He stared at the tiny object. It was simple, but oozed power that resonated within him.

"This is the Giant's Kinship, a ring your past self forged to honor the sacrifice of Hawkeye Gough and the help of the Giant blacksmith of Anor Londo. Take it."

"I'm sorry, this is all very confusing and surprising," Erik admitted. Jeigh laughed.

"Understandable. You likely thought you would do battle against me, perhaps? Had you been any other Monarch Candidate, I would have." The king looked out over the battle field, his two soldiers, watching the area.

"I am among the last of my kin in this land. We came here in a rage to take back our children that wretched Dark Lady had taken from us, only to find, to our horror, she and another had debased them. Ruined them. Mutilated them. Vengeance was the only answer. But, it was all a trick."

Jeigh looked down at Erik, and the chef could feel the sorrow pour off of the Giant. In fact, he noticed they all seemed to communicate through exuding their emotions.

"Now, many years after a long, pointless war, I stand weeping. Less than a dozen of us are left. The forces of the Iron King sweep south, and Vendrick has driven the rest of us here, to this castle, the very first place we attacked."

"Make our sacrifice mean something. Light the First Flame, and stop Aldia. Nashandra is but a pawn to a greater evil. Beware the Scholar of the First Sin."

His piece spoken, the Giant King hefted his sword, striding off to do battle. At the far end of the battlements, Erik could see familiar armored figures. Raime, Velstadt, Vengarl, and King Vendrick himself, all striding towards the last of the grief stricken Giants.

A haze of grey surrounded Erik, and before anything else could happen, he fell backwards, tumbling through time and space back to his comrades.

As he reappeared, Erik staggered to his feet, only to freeze yet again as he saw his friends and companions stripped out of their armor, and some in their undergarments.

"…Want to play a round of Strip Poker before we charge off to finish your quest?" Aslatiel asked as his sister and the Emerald Herald blushed and tried to hide their scantily clad bodies from the chef's view.

"…Sure. Why not. I could use some normality before running headfirst into madness once more," Erik said wearily.

"Playing Strip Poker against several ancient and powerful beings is normal?" Alsanna inquired.

"I have a feeling it really is, at least for me," Erik said as all of his souls cracked up with laughter.

.

\\\~~~/

 ** _Giant's Kinship: A ring forged in an ancient time to honor the pact between Gods and Giants. Gifted to the King of Giants in their ancestral homeland by the God of Peace, it signified a promise of unity._**

 ** _Sadly, over the countless Cycles of the First Flame the oaths of friendship were forgotten and betrayed, and the Giants chose to seal off their borders, dwelling in their kingdom alone. When war once more came to the Giants, King Jeigh slipped on the ring in a futile hope that someone might remember and honor its ancient promises._**

 ** _Whoever wears the Giant's Kinship can speak the language of the Giants, and is recognized as a lord worthy of their respect and service. It grants a small boost to stamina recovery and damage against targets that are bigger than the wearer._**


	52. Chapter 52: The Final Dinner Date

**_Chapter 52: The Final Dinner Date_**

.

"By the way, whatever happened with that Milfanito locked up in Vendrick's castle?" Erik inquired as they all put their clothes back on.

"Vendrick and I took the keyblade and freed her," Benhart said as he shouldered his massive blue sword. "She thanked us and teleported away."

"Well, at least that's all tied up. Would have hated to rush back and deal with that loose end," the chef said with a shrug while pulling his trousers up.

"What's the plan now?" Vengarl asked as he put his helmet back on.

"Does anyone know where the First Flame and Throne of Want were hidden?"

When no one answered Erik, he sighed. "OK, that's the first thing we need to figure out. I assume the entrance might be somewhere in Castle Drangleic. Did anyone see a large pair of black doors when we were there?"

"Now that you mention it, I think I saw something like that," Vengarl mused. "No, wait, that was just one of the courtyard's entrances to the barracks. What about... no, that was something else…"

"It probably hadn't been built when you or Raime were at the castle," Mytha pointed out as she adjusted her chest wrap. "From what I've gathered Vendrick panicked and hid the entrance sometime after you both vanished."

"I'm afraid I do not know where it is, even though I was brought there long ago," Shanalotte said sorrowfully. "Aldia drugged me, and I only became aware of where I was afterwards. And when we fled, well, we used a portal of some kind."

As the group discussed their ideas about where Vendrick had hidden the entrance to the ancient Kiln they all warped back to Majula. Since they had no real plan yet, Erik had volunteered to do some pre-final battle cooking.

As the massive group piled out of the bonfire, the town's inhabitants looked up eagerly.

"Luca!" Chloanne cried, rushing towards the Mirriahian swordswoman and tackling her with a powerful hug.

"Ah, hello, Anne. Sorry that I've been gone for so long," the knightess said, patting the busty woman on the back.

"If it isn't my wayward pupil! Glad to see you haven't gone Hollow."

"Master Carhillion! You won't believe what I've seen and learned on my journey!" Rosabeth exclaimed excitedly as she began to speak with her former mentor.

"Grandmaster Saulden."

"Vice-Master Aslatiel."

Lucatiel's brother and the gloomy leader of the Way of Blue gave curt nods to one another before looking away.

Vengarl and Alsanna were immediately dogpiled by three massive kittens as soon as they appeared, causing raucous laughter to echo through the town.

"So, why is our dear chef imitating Saulden?" Licia inquired, drawing a chuckle at the comparison.

"We need to find where Vendrick hid the First Flame. None of us have any ideas where it could be, besides the fact we know it's in the castle somewhere," Elana explained.

"Oh, you're looking for the Throne of Want? I know where it is."

Slowly, the people of the town turned to stare at the person who had just spoken.

Kale recoiled slightly from their looks.

"How do you know where the Soul King hid it?" Nadalia demanded, folding her arms as she glared at the cartographer.

"It's written on the map!" Kale said, cringing under the weight of their stares.

"Pardon?" Erik asked, stepping forward.

"Yes, the giant Titanite map in the basement of the manor! The directions to the Kiln are written on it!"

"You mean the answer to the biggest question in the world, 'where is the First Flame,' was under our feet the whole time?" Mytha shouted.

"How did you find it?" Erik wondered aloud.

"Well, I began to notice that over time, points on the map were lighting up," Kale began. "Eventually I figured out that the locations related to where the so-called 'Primal Bonfires' had been hidden. And when Erik lit them, so too did the map reflect their ignition."

"When all four were lit on the map, a fifth point popped up, centered over the area where Castle Drangleic had been built. So, I decided to visit it and see what it was showing off. I barely managed to make it into the castle."

"How did you manage that? The gates were sealed with soul magic," Nadalia inquired.

"Well, the front entrance was closed, but the sewers had been left untouched." A chorus of 'eww's!' rolled over Majula at Kale's reveal.

"You're a braver man than I," Erik said without a trace of sarcasm.

"Thanks. It wasn't pleasant," Kale mumbled with a shiver.

"Anyways, I asked one of the ghost maids if they'd seen anything unusual, and after convincing them I was a mere scholar and not a thief she happily told me that Vendrick had closed off a portion of the basement to guard some kind of flame."

"I checked it out, avoiding Hollows all the while, and found a very large, gilded black gate. It was near a bonfire, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not open it. After a bit more exploring and talking to ghostly servants and reading documents here and there, I figured out that that was indeed the entrance to the First Flame, sealed off by Vendrick."

"That is some impressive deduction," Benhart stated, genuinely impressed.

"Well, you know what this calls for?" Erik asked, turning to the rest of the town.

"Food?" came their response.

"Exactly! And I have the perfect meal to prepare for the final confrontation with Aldia!"

Erik began to pull out ingredients from his chest as others set up a large cooking area.

Throughout the rest of the day, he sweated over the pots and pans that would provide the dozens of people with the best meal imaginable.

At long last, as the sun started to set, Erik showed off the first course.

"To begin with, I present to you the second of Donovan Pott's Divine Dishes: Soul Salad!"

Crisp, colorful salads in bowls were passed out to everyone who eyed it hungrily. Even the hardcore meat lovers found they could not deny the tantalizing plant life.

"The base is lettuce and Glowing Mushrooms stir fried with Green Blossoms. The bitter notes of the Green Blossoms are offset by the oil while the lettuce and Glowing Mushrooms simmer and become even juicier."

"Then, after removing the base from the pan I added Amber Herbs to it. Since they have a lot of magical energy in them they don't cook well and have to be eaten raw. When mixed with the stir fried veggies they soak in the excess oil and stew in the taste for a bit."

"As it all cools, grate some Yellow Burr kernels over it and then add a sprinkling of ground Moonlight Moth antenna. The Burrs add a crunchy consistency while the ground up antenna removes the Yellow Burr's tongue tingling effects and contributes a tiny amount of sweetness to keep any lingering bitterness from the Green Blossoms at bay."

"And last but not least, a Large Soul of a Proud Knight to give it that extra mystical tinge. Serve cold and eat with friends!"

"Oh Erik, this looks amazing!" Chloanne gushed.

"I'm almost hesitant to eat such a work of art," Aslatiel admitted.

"Please, do eat up! After all, there's still the main course."

At that, everyone tucked in, and amidst groans and moans of approval Erik grinned as he prepared the next round of food.

As the Soul Salad was consumed, the Undead's Darksigns faded for a brief, almost unnoticeable moment. It was reacting to the First Flame's essence the cook had imparted to his meal, thanks in part to his connection to it, and the souls in his possession.

After a while, once their bowls were empty, all of them looked over to the bonfire where sizzling slabs of Wyvern meat waited to be served.

"And now, for the main course, the third of Donovan's dishes: Dragon Soul Steak! I know it's not really Dragon meat, but his recipe assures me Wyvern will work in a pinch," Erik said with a smile.

"Oh by the gods that smell… so good," Mytha moaned, wiping drool from her lips.

"If I'd known Wyverns could be made to look, smell, and taste so good I would have petitioned King Vendrick for more hunts against them," Vengarl commented, Raime rapidly nodding his head in agreement.

"First, take a nice large cut of meat. Not too fatty, not too lean. From the haunch works best, though chest filets are just as good," Erik explained as he served the plates. He even had three large platters for the saber tigers. Because no one gets between a giant cat and their food. No one.

"Then, rub it vigorously in Simpleton and Skeptic's Spice. This allows the meat, normally too hard and gritty for human consumption, to be become as tender as fatty pork or beef. It also imparts the normally bland meat a much sharper taste, and thus brings out the hints of draconic ancestry."

"Afterwards, whip up a glaze made from Twilight Herb and Siegbräu. This will be added to the meat so it can be baked in while it roasts over a fire."

"Wait, you have Siegbräu? And you didn't share?" Vengarl said, mock hurt in his voice.

"Well, it's not real Siegbräu. I had to make a mock substitute. I know some of the recipe so I just replaced some of the grains the Bottomless Box didn't have with local ingredients," Erik said with a shrug.

"Doesn't ale take months to properly brew?" Benhart inquired.

"Normally, yes, but I managed to jury rig the Ashen Mist Heart to speed up the process by making the brew time travel to when it was done."

"You used the essence of the Ancient Dragon, the being who named me and cared for me as a child, as a cooking aide?" Shanalotte hissed, her eye twitching madly.

"Anyways! I added a Large Soul of a Brave Hero to the glaze and then lathered the Wyvern meats with it!" Erik said, hastily changing the topic slightly. The Emerald Herald just glared but let it go. For now.

"After letting the mystical flames of the Bonfire and by extension the First Flame to cook and sear the juices in, the Wyvern Soul Steak is now ready to be served!"

"You used the First Flame as a grill?!"

"Enjoy, everyone!" Erik cried before dashing off, pursued by an irate Firekeeper.

"Ah, dinner and a show! Nothing could be better!" Mytha laughed.

"I agree, auntie! They make quite the adorable couple!"

'Hear, hear!"

As the meat was consumed even more moans came out, everyone finding the steaks utterly delectable.

As they ate, bursts of white light erupted here and there as the divine meal filled them with power.

Raime was cleansed of the Dark taint that had cloaked him since he had served Nadalia in Brume Tower. For the first time in centuries his mind was clear and his Hollow-ificiation completely reversed.

Shalquoir purred in ecstasy as she was reminded of home, and the hope of the future. She curled her tail around the phantom form of another large cat next to her, one with a too wide mouth that stared fondly at the formerly headless red knight.

Melentia wept as she wished her family could have joined her one last time. Through her haze of tears, the Hag Merchant could swear that she saw her husband and children sitting around her and smiling. To her utter shock, she felt them reach out and touch her, ghostly hands gently wrapping around her slender frame as she was embraced in one final hug.

Lucatiel and Aslatiel felt their parents embrace them, even though they had died decades ago due to the wars of their homeland. The two siblings wiped their tears and continued to eat, silent oaths and vows to serve and protect the young chef no matter what would come.

Rosabeth blushed as an older looking version of herself teased the young Pyromancer about the handsome young swordsman from Mirriah she had traveled across Drangleic with.

Chloanne cheerful regaled a spectral woman in blacksmith's garb as Lenigrast silently held both women's hands, content to be with the two people who meant the most to him.

Vengarl did not hide his tears as he felt the presence of his lover Felicia and then his best friend Ivar settled beside him, the Ivory King's phantom giving his blood-brother a salute before he headed over his beloved Alsanna.

Said petite dark haired woman squeaked cutely when Ivar picked her up and plopped the former High Priestess into his lap and began to stroke her hair and pet his pet giant cats.

Elana smiled happily as a rugged, handsome warrior plopped down next to his wife and cuddled together in the glow of the bonfire, content to be with each other one more time.

Between Mytha and Nadalia an awkward looking Iron King manifested. Both women shared a look with each other before smirking and leaned over to plant tender, forgiving kisses upon Castor's cheeks. The iron loving monarch huffed but wrapped his arms around the two women's shoulders.

Completely unseen by everyone, four crowns glowed softly inside a certain chef's bag, before they slowly melted together and formed a brand new artifact that shone with Light and Dark in equal amounts.

Four amethysts were set in a diamond formation in a crown made of shining grey metal. In the center an opal glowed, bathing the crown in a rainbow aura. It looked like a cross between the old Ivory Crown and the Sunken Crown, though the spikes were tall and tower-like like the Iron Crown and Vendrick's Crown.

Carhillion silently sat showing off his myriad discovery's to an older woman in a witch's hat who smiled fondly that her husband had found something worth living for once again.

Kale embraced the ghostly forms of two young children, weeping softly.

Magerold shared a drink with a man who had taught the treasure hunter all he had known.

Gilligan whimpered softly as a matronly older woman grabbed ahold of his ear and scolded him incessantly for all the mischief he had gotten up to.

Saulden had a rare smile as he was hugged by an excitable young woman who constantly chatted, talking the silent knight's ear off.

Licia bowed politely to an older woman in similar nun's outfit who smiled back and hugged the young Cleric.

Maughlin shared tales of profit and items beyond the dreams of avarice with a grandfatherly figure whose grunts conveyed pride and joy.

In the shadows of the entrance, a shimmering form of a woman with long raven black hair stared with melancholy joy at the woman with brown hair and mismatched eyes who chased the laughing chef.

Beside the former scorpion bottomed woman stood another phantasmal mother who gazed with pride at the strapping young man the Lindelt cook had become.

And last, but not least, a tiny portal tore itself open into reality and a quartet of snakes snuck out to grab a set of dishes piled high with the meals Erik had cooked and left near his tent. They were stopped by four giant ghostly beings bending down and patting them on the heads.

One man, one woman, one skeleton, one dragon. Each showed their pride and love the only way they could.

Hidden far away, in a location separate from the world itself, a gold and white robed man shed tears as a brass armored woman stood vigil over her master and lover as she always did. But this time she wore a smile, unseen by the world as she waited for her dinner to be dragged in by the snake-legs.

Perhaps she would forgive the reincarnated god for his unconscious philandering in exchange for the good food. Maybe. At least for today.

\\\~~~/

 **Crown of Unification:** ** _The pinnacle state of Light unifying with Dark, Souls blending with Humanity. When the Four Daughters of Manus created their crowns, they vowed that they would never unite unless they considered a single man (or woman) worthy of their respect and allegiance. To date, not one mortal or Undead has achieved this. That the crowns fused on their own without the Dark Ones' consent shows how strong the soul and mind of the Monarch Candidate is._**

 ** _It carries the effects of the four original crowns, amplified by their union. In addition, whoever wears it is immune to Hollowification and cannot fall to madness due to repeated death. In fact, the wearer of the crown can bestow blessings that undo the effects of dying and undo Hollowification to a certain degree_** _._

 **Stats: 45 / 40 / 40 / 80 / 80 / 85 / 80 / 400 / 4 / 40 / 40 / 40 / 40, 400/400, 4 lbs.**


	53. Chapter 53: When Shadows Bleed

_**Chapter 53: When Shadows Bleed**_

.

"I can't believe how good I feel!" Lucatiel exclaimed, slowly flexing her body as she felt power rushing through her veins. Everyone nodded in agreement, awed at the energy they could sense coursing through their bodies.

It was the morning after, and the Undead were still coming to grips with what had happened.

Everything that had happened last night seemed like a dream. They could remember that white phantasmal people had appeared before them, but the rest of it was all hazy. Still, there was not a single person who did not have a smile on their faces. Nor was there someone who didn't have an explosive amount of power inside them. It was simply divine. Literally.

"I feel like I could take on an army again," Aslatiel mused, Vengarl and Benhart nodding in agreement.

"What do we do now?" Chloanne asked, glancing over at Erik. He was standing in front of Majula's bonfire with Kale, the two of them discussing teleporting straight into the heart of Drangleic Castle.

Since the explorer had seen and touched the bonfire nearest to the supposed entrance to the Throne he had agreed to take Erik and his group there to bypass any traps or tricks Natasha might have set up.

"Well, my group and I will be heading over to finally light the First Flame," Erik announced, glancing over at the warriors of the party.

Mytha, Benhart, Vengarl, Raime, and the Dark Sisters. His old group was now supplemented by Lucatiel and her brother, as well Saulden and Rosabeth.

The others in Majula shifted slightly, giving each other uncertain looks. At last, Licia was the one who stepped forward.

"We too would like to accompany you, Erik Potts," the Cleric of Lindelt said, waving her hand at the rest of the inhabitants of the town. Melentia, Maughlin, Carhillion, Gilligan, Magerold, Chloanne, Lenigrast. Even Shalquoir and the Emerald Herald looked resolute.

"We wish to see this all end. How many others can claim they were there to witness the world be reborn, and the Curse of the Darksign lifted?" Licia asked rhetorically.

Erik merely nodded.

"I see. Well, as long as you stay safe, I don't see why not."

"Don't you think they might get in the way?" Vengarl inquired, glancing at the group. Most of them were civilians with only basic understanding of combat at best. The chef merely shrugged.

"They're Undead, so death is mostly an annoyance at this point. Not to mention they've all gained some skills just by living in Drangleic all this time. Besides, we have plenty of warriors here to help them if they get into trouble."

"Well, that's your choice I suppose," the Red Rust Knight conceded.

Everyone gathered in a large circle around the bonfire, with Shanalotte standing beside Kale to help guide the larger group through the twisting paths of the flames.

Even if the cartographer knew how to teleport straight to the spot, he still needed support in dragging along such a massive number of people.

"Is everyone certain they wish to do this?" Shanalotte asked, looking over the diverse group. Nods went all around, and she sighed but couldn't help a thin smile crease her lips.

"Very well. Kale, if you would."

"Yes, ma'am!" The explorer said nervously, placing a hand on the twisted sword wrapped in mystical flames. He closed his eyes and thought of the place he needed to go, and a picture formed in his mind of the bonfire he needed.

Sensing he had made the connection, the Emerald Herald placed her own hand atop Kale's, channeling all her might as a Firekeeper in order to keep the group coherent and intact.

A golden explosion swept over the Cliffside, and for the first time in a very long while Majula, Town of Beginnings, was completely empty. Yet hope still lingered, and as the golden blaze died down, a veritable horde of spectral figures could be seen faintly in the sparkling embers that drifted on the winds, staring longingly at the bonfire and wishing the people who had just left good luck.

\\\~~~/

"Argh! Whoever's elbow is in my gut, please remove it!"

"Hey! Whoever's touching me, stop!"

"I think someone's shoe is pressing against my back!"

"Your sword's poking me!"

"…That's not my sword…"

"Ahhnnn~! Oh, so good~!"

It took a while for everyone to untangle themselves from the massive pile of bodies and escape the tiny chamber the bonfire had been placed in, but at last everyone was back on their feet looking around in awe.

"Definitely the basement," Vengarl said, noting the hallway full of kneeling spearmen statues across from them. "I think this is down below the main entrance somewhat.

"Indeed. If I recall, King Vendrick's had part of this place sealed off due to construction," Raime noted. Everyone turned to the knight in shock, and the massive blue and black man shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

"Oh, sorry, it's just that your voice…" Erik said, trailing off.

"What about it?"

"Well, it's just, you see…" Benhart mumbled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

"I mean it's not that unusual I suppose…" Aslatiel mused, eyeing the former Left Hand.

"We're surprised you sound so feminine," Chloanne said bluntly, smiling in that oblivious airheaded way Erik and Lucatiel had come to recognize as just a cover for her sharp wit.

Vengarl coughed, trying to hold back his laughter as Raime pouted. Nadalia had no compunctions and giggled loudly.

"Yeah, I was surprised too the first time I heard him! I half wondered if he was actually a woman hiding their gender, or perhaps like the Darksun and having both sets of tackle-and-bait. But no, he's just a pretty boy!"

"Look! Over there!" Shanalotte exclaimed, distracting everyone as she pointed towards a massive gilded black set of doors.

"I don't remember those being here before," Raime stated, silently glad no one was bringing up his voice again.

"They look just like the ones that blocked off Aldia's estate and the Memory of Jeigh," Erik gasped. He walked confidently forward, and as he approached the seals in the door detected the King's Ring upon the chef's hand. Slowly it began to creak open.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for the doors to completely reveal what lay beyond. They were not disappointed.

Before them was a massive cavern, impossibly deep and wide. And situated in the middle of it all was a giant stone tower, fortress-like in appearance and radiating an imposing sense of power. Connecting the tower and the other side of the doors was a long, thin strip of rock acting as a bridge.

Either the group was much deeper underground than they'd first assumed, or magic was involved somehow, twisting and distorting space so everything fit.

"The Kiln of the First Flame," Elana whispered in awe. She could feel it in her very being; a raw, primal Light that stained everything will fathomless purpose and drenched it all in everlasting Darkness. It grew. It faded. It was and always would be.

Her sisters were no different, feeling the power of the First Flame simultaneously call out to them with promises of power and weakening them with its very nature.

"Nadalia? Alsana? Elana? Are you alright?" Erik asked cautiously, seeing the sister's fall into a stupor.

"Yes, we're… just taken aback by all the power we can feel," Alsana said, snapping out of her trance first. Her Fear helped in that regard.

"Comforting yet utterly terrifying," Nadalia agreed.

The group quickly headed out after that, carefully moving in a long single file line towards the Kiln with Erik at the helm.

"This is it," he whispered to himself, staring at the Fog Gates before him. Standing here, it was almost like a dream.

He, Erik Potts, a chef from Lindelt, had been chosen to light the First Flame and ascend to the ranks of the gods themselves. He would lead the world into a golden age, then ultimately be forced to suffer and watch helplessly as it all faded, and a new Cycle would rise anew.

The greatest of honors came with the greatest of pains.

Erik looked behind him at the long line of people, and could not help but smile. Each of them had wormed their way into his heart and life, and he could honestly not imagine ruling over a world where they did not live. He clenched his fists and felt his Fire Seed thrum with eager energy. He would see this through to the end, and give the world they deserved.

His gaze fell upon the Emerald Herald, and a smile crept up onto his face. His heart beat, and a part of him knew why. He then turned to face the Fog Gate and approached it. Time for this to end. And begin anew.

Placing a hand against the mist, he pushed and let it swallow him up. Behind him his warriors and comrades stepped forward to join him against whatever defenses Vendrick had concocted.

"Ah, so we meet again, child of Donovan. I'm not surprised, though. I knew you'd be the one to succeed where all others failed."

Erik stood paralyzed in shock, his comrades no better. Before them towered a massive skeletal woman clutching a scythe. Her skirt was made of bones and oozing black tar, and her face was more like a mask than an actual skull. She glared out at the Undead, and then turned her rage upon the three Sisters of Dark.

"Nashandra," Elana muttered darkly, conjuring up her glaive. Her siblings followed suit.

"No wonder Vendrick decided to hide in the Crypt! With a wife like that any sane man would spend his days away from home!" Vengarl shouted. Pure malice rolled off of Manus' Aspect of Want and everyone wisely moved away from the clearly suicidal man.

Erik's gaze was then drawn to a pair of white and gold armored figures lying at Nashandra's feet. Though their armor was dulled, it was clear they had been knights once.

Spotting them, Raime gave a cry. "Dominick! Wylla! No!"

"Ah, yes, these two," Nashandra said dismissively. One of them tried to move towards their blade but the Dark One's scythe was faster, and she decapitated them. They erupted into golden flames and reformed, panting in pain. Nashandra laughed.

"The Throne Defender and the Throne Watcher, two of Vendrick's knights chosen to stand guard over the Throne of Want. Originally, I had planned to let them fight the Monarch Candidate and then swoop in once the battle was over, but based on past evidence, they pair would be more likely to just step aside for Erik Potts."

The Child of Want's looked over the foes arranged before her. "So I decided to take care of them myself and await you here."

"How long did you wait?" Nadalia demanded.

"The moment I felt that explosion of power last night, I knew something would be coming soon. I made my way down here, slipped through Vendrick's seals thanks to a backdoor Aldia and I made long ago, and dealt with the duo as I waited."

She threw her head back and cackled. "And now all that waiting has paid off! Here you stand, with the keys to the First Flame itself!"

She raised her scythe. Everyone tensed, readying themselves for battle.

 **"** **Wait, my dear. Were you going to start the fun without me?"**

A dark, booming voice rolled out over the ruined room they were in, everyone tensing in fear.

"Aldia," Erik and Vengarl hissed simultaneous. Inside of the chef, his souls roared and screamed at the arrival of the great evil.

Behind the Fog Gate Shanalotte felt a terrible chill run through her body as something oily bubbled up behind the white mist. In fact, before the non-combatant's shocked eyes, the white was swallowed up and supplanted by inky black. The Fog Gate was now more akin to a Smoke Gate.

As for the warriors, they could only stare in horror as a massive, vile beast pulled itself up from the pit behind the platform.

It resembled the skeletal dragon in his manor, but made of twisted, warped black roots and covered in dripping dark muck. Purple flames glittered in place of eyes, and the monstrous form of Duke Aldia, Scholar of the First Sin, pulled himself onto the platform behind Nashandra.

"Ah, Aldia," Nashandra said, shocking everyone when she turned to the massive pseudo-dragon with love and affection in her voice. Had her eyes been visible, there would have been hearts in them no doubt.

"My love, have you finally recovered?"

 **"** **I am strong enough to deal with vermin like this,"** Aldia assured her, sweeping his malefic gaze across the champions arrayed before him.

"Hold on, you and Aldia?" Nadalia gasped.

"Oh course! You thought I married Vendrick because I liked him? Hah! I needed his power, but that was it. Had Aldia been the one to inherit the powers of the Souls I would not have hesitated. But alas, it was the idiot who got all the power. Isn't that just pathetic?"

 **"** **Now, now, my darling. My older brother may have been a fool in every meaning of the word, but at least he had uses,"** Aldia chuckled. **"Why, without his blind devotion to you, he would never have committed all those atrocities upon those Giants and gotten us the materials we needed to build the Throne!"**

The two laughed and shared a loving nuzzle which caused everyone watching to try and hold down their bile. The pair of Throne Guardians tried to squirm away but Aldia pinned them in place with massive claws.

"So, what should we do, my love? We only need the cook to survive. All the others are expendable," Nashandra said, running a boney finger along the edge of her scythe.

 **"** **They will make excellent experiments. I wonder if I can replicate the lack of a head with others. And do they have to be Undead as well?"** Vengarl shuddered as Aldia looked at the red knight.

 **"** **Or perhaps I might see if I can control how much Chaos is needed for a partial transformation?"** Mytha shivered at the leer in the monstrous duke's eyes.

 **"** **Why not find out if it isn't just souls that can be transplanted from one person to another? Why not their Humanity? Would they retain their personality and become immortal if they could do such a thing?"**

 **"** **Or perhaps we can find out if your sisters can be harvested for Humanity like what the people of Oolacile did to your Father! Now there's an interesting thought!"**

"Nashandra! This man is evil! You would truly throw your lot in with him?!" Elana shouted. The Wrath of Manus grew horrified by the total lack of care her wayward younger sister showed.

"Why should I care? The Darksun has done us no favors, yet I know you've sided with him! You would rather keep this bleak and wretched world going than let a new order rise! Light and Dark, locked in an eternal battle? No thank you!" She spat a glob of Dark magic that sizzled away on the floor.

"Rekindling the First Flame is only a stopgap! If we truly want the Cycles to end, then we must put an end to this pathetic conflict! Neither Light nor Dark, instead a world of Shadows!"

"And who would rule over such a realm? You?" Erik scoffed. Under the eyes of several eldritch entities and more than a score of Undead, a simple chef stepped forward, drawing forth a helix sword from the sheath at his side and igniting golden flames in his left hand.

He pointed the Blade of Eleum Loyce at the duke and queen. "Neither of you are fit to rule over a kingdom, let alone an entire world!"

Hidden behind the two Dark clad beings a hut made of ash was starting to glow fainting, the course Throne within throbbing with golden energy.

Erik's voice began to grow louder with every syllable until it was ringing from the ceiling. Beyond the Smoke Gate the Undead heard him and bowed their heads in prayer towards the man they knew would be their savior.

And it wasn't just in the Kiln that people heard him speak.

Across Drangleic Erik's voice was carried over by the bonfires, where his words crackled and spit forth from the sparking embers. Images popped up, showing the brave chef facing down two of the vilest creatures imaginable.

In the Blue Cathedral hundreds of men and women crowded around the handful of bonfires they maintained, listening in rapturously as Erik spoke. Targey smiled as he listened and watched. Off to the side Gordin was cheering the Lindelt native on.

In a tumbled down town located in a mist wreathed forest a group of Lionkin sat and stared intently at their bonfire, while Manscorpion Tark bowed his head in respect towards the man who was challenging the monster who had ruined his wife and himself. In his chest his father and lover watched on in glee as well, eagerly urging on the chef who had captured their darling Shanalotte's heart.

Deep within the sandy ruins of the Brightstone Cove a Crow-woman cackled with mirth next to a Pardoner while a portly and armored Gyrm chugged fine ale from a cask. The pair had seen how the Darksun had treated the young chef, and were eager to witness his victory while the wheeling dealing merchant looked forward to the young human's battle against the one who had turned his own people against the Light and into the arms of a Fallen God.

And high up in a golden throne room a godling with snakes for legs stared intently at the scene playing out in the flames, kept company by a brass armored knightess.

"You claim that the conflict between Light and Dark will doom the world? Perhaps you are correct, but destroying it will bring no peace! It is up to everyone who lives in this world to strive for unity, to band together against hardship. Be they human, Giant, Lionkin, Crowkin, or Gyrm, we must all work together for survival and success. We are all ingredients in a massive stew called Life! Alone, they are bland. Together, they are delicious!"

While there was some amusement in regards to the young man's word choice, the sentiment was appreciated.

Aldia snorted at the chef's declaration. **"Oh please. Humans are not worth the trouble. Better they be forced into subservience alongside all the other races of the world. That way they can be controlled and put to a good purpose."**

"You don't even know what 'good' is, anymore!" Erik retorted, earning hearty cheers from his companions across the land. "All you know is selfishness and greed! You could never rule, for you do not know what it means to be a monarch!"

"And you do?" Nashandra scoffed.

Erik stared her in the eyes, unflinching.

"I do. To be a monarch means putting forth the effort to care for others and help them. To be a monarch means putting the needs of the kingdom and its people above your own. To put aside selfishness and pride when it means there is food and gold to go around for all."

Erik's voice was now booming across more than just Drangleic. Everyone Unhollowed Undead could hear the young man's voice in their mind, their Darksigns pulsing with joy and warmth for the first time in forever.

And in the temples dedicated to the gods across the world, from Catarina to Lanafir, Erik's voice supplanted that of the old, feeble gods and their priests. The faithful could only watch in awe as the candles, hearths, and torches lighting these places showed glimpses of the man they knew in their hearts would be their new master.

"A monarch is all about sacrifice! They must shoulder all the burdens, all the successes, all the failures. They are an icon to believe in, a symbol to aspire to, a legend to remind others of how to act. They do not exist for themselves, but for others."

Countless scribes and wannabe prophets scribbled down the words of the man in the flames. And in a distant, imposing palace in Lindelt, a father wept with joy at seeing his son after so long as he stared into the fires of the kitchen.

"And yet, for all their hardships and hard work, the monarch is never alone. For they have their people, and their advisors, and their friends, and their loved ones. Distance is not a problem when it comes to loyalty and love. The First Flame will be lit, but it will not be you who lights it! You who knows nothing of love or sacrifice shall never rule this world!"

Applause and wild cheers shook the world to its very core.

Unaware of it all, Erik continued to stare defiantly at the twisted pair.

"You honestly think you know what the world needs?" Nashandra sneered. "A mere human of barely thirty summers cannot possibly fathom the true depths of this wretched existence!"

 **"** **Now hold on a moment, my dear. Perhaps the Monarch Candidate is onto something,"** Aldia interrupted, shocking everyone. His lover turned to him in surprise.

"What?"

 **"** **His words of sacrifice and love resonated with me. It made me think."** Aldia turned his misshapen dragon-like head to looking lovingly down at Nashandra.

 **"** **Nashandra, my dear, you love me, don't you?"**

"Yes, Aldia! More than that weak husband of mine! More than anything else in the world! You are the only thing I could ever Want!" She exclaimed as she stared back at him.

 **"** **Wonderful."** There was a note of tenderness in the deformed duke's booming voice as he spoke to the Child of Darkness beneath him.

 **"** **Then, would you please die for me?"**

Before Nashandra had to chance to process his words, Aldia's head snapped down, slavering jaws wide. In a single bite he consumed the Daughter of Want and ate her whole. He then lashed out with his claws and dragged the two Throne Guardians into his maw as well, ignoring their screams.

He chewed. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then, he swallowed.

Stunned and terrified silence fell across the world. It was only when Alsanna let out a piercing scream of hate and sorrow that anyone was shaken from their stupor.

Before anyone had a chance to act, Aldia's body twitched and the Darkness coating him writhed obscenely, spreading across and sinking into the holes and wounds.

His appearance of a rotting carcass was changed, and soon he had glistening scales of obsidian that shone with a faint purple hue in the enchanted lights. Claws of Titanite wrapped in hellish purple flames pawed at the ground and tore huge gouges in the stone. Fangs of stained and rotted bone could be seen in a maw that was closer to an abyss than anything else. A tail lined with spikes that oozed tar-like poison lashed the air, sending droplets of the noxious concoction flying.

And the eyes. Oh, the eye! Orbs of solid purple flames and raw, undiluted madness. They surveyed everything with neither love, nor arrogance, rather they saw all as merely beneath them. All was equal in their worthlessness before true power.

 **"** **Yes, you were right, young Erik Potts! Love and Unity really are all that is needed to gain power in this world!"** Aldia laughed at the expressions of terror on their faces.

 **"** **And now I shall honor my dearly departed beloved by remaking the world into a glorious utopia!"** He reared up, his draconic form breaking through the walls and ceiling of the arena.

 **"** **Come, Monarch Candidate! Let us see whose 'love' is stronger!"**


	54. Chapter 54: Darkness holds no fear

_**Chapter 54: Darkness Holds No Fear**_

.

"Scatter! Don't let his attacks touch you!" Erik shouted as the Dark Dragon took a deep breath and spewed a wave of crackling purple smog. Whatever it touched melted and dissolved into nothing.

"This is bad," Vengarl said.

"No shit!" Mytha hollered, hurling bolt after bolt of sorceries into the massive behemoth before them.

Everyone who had ranged attacked joined in, trying to bring the deformed duke-turned-dragon down without nearing the wicked claws and teeth and flames.

But it did nothing. The attacks were swallowed by the black, oozing scales and did no visible damage. A few scratches here and there from the exception weapons, but that was it.

Aldia sneered down at the scurrying Hollows and flared his wings. Globs of black slime flew off, splattering all over the ground.

"Gross," Erik gagged as one of the blobs landed at his feet.

"Erik, move!" Elana shouted, shoving Erik to the side just as a black tentacle shot out of the puddle of darkness. Had the chef not been moved out of the way the black tendril would have pierced his heart.

Before the Undead's stunned eyes the black puddles exploded, strands of goop twisting and rising into malformed humanoid shapes that lunged at the party.

"What are these things?!" Lucatiel shouted, slashing at the goo-men that were rising from the puddles of raw Abyss.

"Manifestations of the Dark! Each one of these things is the remains of a human who was swallowed by the Abyss!" Nadalia exclaimed. "Be careful, they're stronger than they look!"

One of the goo-men proved her right by ripping a pillar out of the ground and hurling it like a spear at Erik. Raime countered, shattering the stone with his blades.

"They're trying to kill Erik! Don't let them hurt him, no matter what!" The former left hand commanded, his voice strong and firm.

"Yes! Let's do this!" Benhart shouted victoriously, obliterating two of the creatures with a flash of magic. Of course, they reformed instantly afterwards.

 **"** **Ha ha ha! Scurry and writhe like the worms you are! Let despair consume you!"** Aldia crowed. He turned around and began to tear at the dome of ash that sealed off the Throne that he so desperately craved.

"Damn it!" Erik cried. "Don't let him break through! If he touches the Throne he wins! And we cannot allow that!"

For the moment the ash and soot, remnants of countless former Kindlers and wannabe-Kindlers, held, its arcane essence holding up to the onslaught of Darkness that washed upon it.

But it was only a matter of time. Thin cracks were spider-webbing across the dome's surface, and Aldia refused to let up.

"How are we supposed to stop me?! His scales are soaking up our attacks, and his minions just keep reforming!" Mytha shouted.

"Aaahhh! Don't set them on fire! Don't set them on fire!" Rosabeth shouted, running in panic from a goo-man who had turned into a shambling, living bonfire. Aslatiel decapitated the flaming monsters, but that barely slowed it down.

"If fire won't work, let's go with ice!" Alsanna shouted, flinging her hands out and freezing three of the goo-men in their tracks. Frost creaked and cracked, and it seemed to hold them in place for the moment.

"Alright, Alsanna and I will run interference with our Cryomancy! Everyone else, try to do what you can to distract Aldia! But don't die!" Erik shouted, letting the chill crawl out of his soul and ensnare more of the goo-men.

They turned into black, icy pillars where they stood. Their defeat caught Aldia's attention, and he looked at group of Undead who opposed him.

He flicked his tail and Vengarl and Raime went flying into the wall of the tower. He lashed out with his claws and nearly disemboweled Raime who needed a handful of Radiant Life Gems to recover. A gust of wind from his wings knocked Lucatiel and Rosabeth onto their asses.

 **"** **You are testing my patience,"** Aldia growled.

"Good!" Erik shouted back. He then immediately dodged a crushing blow from the dragon's barbed tail, narrowly avoiding being impaled by the spikes.

"This is not going well!" Vengarl shouted as he cut down another ooze monster. "Aldia's scales are too hard, and these things just keep reforming! It doesn't matter what we do to them!"

"I have an idea!" Erik replied, dashing over to Elana. The Squalid Queen was busy drowning the goopy tar-like beings in waves of summoned skeletons when the chef arrived at her side.

"What is it? I'm busy keeping these wretched spawn at bay," Elana said.

"Glaive!" He shouted, causing the eldest of Manus' daughters to raise an eyebrow before she smirked, understanding his plan. Or, at least he thought that was what she did. She was in her true form, and was less than human looking now.

Placing the large weapon against the ground, Elana waited for Erik to jump onto the flat of the blade before flinging him at the towering black mass of scales and Abyss.

Much like with Sinh deep down in Shulva, Erik landed hard on the draconic back, barely avoiding the spikes that ran down Aldia's spine.

The chef's arrival did not go unnoticed, and the duke-turned-dragon began to writhe and buck, trying to remove the gnat from his back.

 **"** **Remove yourself from me, worm! How dare you try to ride a greater being like it was a mere beast of burden!"** Aldia roared.

One sharp, sudden jerk of the dragon's body nearly dislodged Erik. His pack went flying and it clattered on the ground, spilling pots and pans and cutlery everywhere.

Unknown to everyone, and unseen, a black and white crown rolled out of the canvas knapsack and came to rest upright on the floor, innocently watching the battle.

Erik clenched his teeth and ignored the shaking. He reached down to his belt and removed his precious Titanite kitchen knife, and jammed it into Aldia's back. The blade bit deep, puncturing the scales. Erik grinned madly at the sight. It had taken Lenigrast a long time to fully upgrade his dinky little blade, but now it could cut through Wyvern scales, meat, and bone with ease. And false dragon's, too.

It wasn't much, a pathetic pinprick upon the wrathful duke, but it was the first solid wound they'd landed in the entire battle.

With his other hand, Erik jabbed the Blade of Eleum Loyce into the dragon's back. It dug deep as well, and slowly, enduring the flailing all the while, Erik crawled up Aldia's body to reach the head.

Down below, the rest of the fighters noticed the chef's plan and tried to distract the duke from attacking the young Undead.

"Over here, ugly!" Lucatiel shouted, hacking at Aldia's foot. She quickly rolled to the side to avoid being stomped on.

"I've seen Basilisk more terrifying than you!" Aslatiel sneered, his great sword drawing sparks as it glanced off the dragon's belly.

"Ha! You call yourself a dragon?! The beast I slew was a hundred times your better!" Benhart taunted, smashing his glowing blade on the tail. He wasn't sure why, but he felt he had to cut it off for some reason. His sword compelled him…

"No wonder no one liked you! You reek worse than a cesspool!" Vengarl laughed, enjoying the battle with the endlessly regenerating goop-men far too much.

"Is your current size compensating for something?" Raime retorted as he delivered heavy blows to Aldia's haunch.

Sadly, the Undead's words were more harmful than their actual attacks. Furious at their insults, Aldia tilted his head back and roared, shaking the Kiln to its foundations before unfurling his wings and flapping them, sending more blobs of black goo raining down.

The movement nearly dislodged Erik who held on for dear life.

 **"** **Drown in my Darkness, pathetic Undead!"** Aldia bellowed.

Their words stung his mind and ears to the point he completely ignored the antics of a certain cook. Taking a deep breath, Erik waited for Aldia to return to all fours before he pushed himself up and ran up and over the back towards the head. He then jumped and performed a plunging attack straight onto Aldia's head.

A knife in one eye, a sword in the other. A scream of pure agony rippled through the First Flames' hiding spot and Erik was finally tossed off. He landed hard on the tiled floor, a sickening crunch echoing from where he landed.

"Shit," Erik griped, staring at the mangled remains of his left leg. He'd landed on the limb badly, and bones protruded from his flesh.

"Erik, look out!" Rosabeth called out from the sides. He looked up to see Aldia's tail streaking towards him, spikes glinting maliciously in the torch light.

"Double shit," he growled. He closed his eyes and raised his arms in front of him, hoping to minimize the oncoming impact.

Instead of sharp, pointy death he felt something soft collide with him, pushing him out of the way.

"Are… you… alright?" A wet, weak voice called out.

Erik opened his eyes and his mind screeched to a halt.

"Lucatiel?"

The knightness coughed, black blood dribbling down his lips. The swordswoman from Mirrah had thrown herself in front of the young man, pushing him out of the way of the tail spikes, but ended up taking the blow instead.

With a sickening meaty sucking sound the spikes ripped out of her body, sending more blood flying, and her mask tumbled off of her face.

"No, no, no!" Erik cried, grabbing the young woman as she slumped forward. "why did you do that?!"

"You… must live…" Lucatiel gasped. In the background a howl of fury erupted and Aslatiel began to try and cut his way through the tar monsters that barred his way. Aldia screamed as he tore the two blades from his eyes, but laughed as they regenerated and he beheld the tragic scene before him.

"Drink some Estus, quick!" Erik commanded, removing his flask. It had survived the fall intact. Say what you want about the taste of the stuff, but the dull green bottles that held it were durable.

However Lucatiel pushed it away. "I'm fine. Save it for yourself."

"But, the wound…" Erik trailed off, seeing the gaping holes in her body. She just laughed, causing more blood to be coughed up.

"It's fine… I'll be fine…" she assured him.

"No!" the Chef cried. "Drink, damn it!" he shoved the bottle towards her, forcing the neck past her lips. After a moment she reluctantly drained the last few sips remaining.

"There, that wasn't so bad," Erik began, but was cut off as Lucatiel reached out and pressed her lips against his, passionately kissing him.

For a moment, it seemed like the whole battlefield froze.

Time immediately resumed as Erik pulled away, sputtering with golden fluid dripping down his chin.

"Lucatiel…" he gasped. He could feel the Estus he had been forced to swallow repairing his ruined limb as well as any other minor wounds he'd sustained.

"I am your sword, Erik," Lucatiel said with a smile, even as her eyes became cloudy.

"But, I'm glad I got to go on such an amazing adventure with you and everyone else." Tears filled her eyes. "Tell Chloanne I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"Damn it, Luca, snap out of it!" Erik shouted hysterically. "Why are you acting like this is the end?! You're an Undead! You'll be fine! You'll be back at the bonfire in no time!"

Lucatiel simply smiled sadly, and Erik finally saw her veins pulsing with black ichor. Not like an Undead's darkened blood, but true, liquid Darkness.

"No, no, no!" He screamed, scrambling for his medicine pouch. He reached in and grabbed a Radiant Life Gem and crushed it over her chest. But the glowing motes of energy did nothing. He tried again with another potent Life Gem, but got the same results. Over and over he crushed the precious healing items against Lucatiel's body, weeping all the while.

Silence. Stillness. The knightess's body went limp with a sorrowful smile still on her lips.

Her body was not consumed by golden flames as she was whisked back to a bonfire, fully restored.

Instead, her flesh dissolved into vicious black slime, staining Erik's hands. Her armor and clothes became empty.

What happened next would be spoken of in awe for countless generations.

Erik let out a mournful scream of raw emotions, hatred and sadness fusing into a single, raging storm. Golden flames exploded from the chef's body, the hand with his Fire Seeds transmuting into an appendage of pure, blazing fire and energy.

He rose, still screaming with his loss, and the fires bathing him gushed forth and swallowed up the tar-men. They were immolated on the spot, turning into naught but embers and ash.

Erik strode forth, and from the corner the fused crown that lay on the floor shot up and alighted upon his brow, drawing gasps from the Sisters of Dark.

 **"** **No… impossible! How could you be the one to unite the Four Crowns?!"** Aldia demanded, staring in shock at the immaculate being before him. Erik ignored him, his cried having faded as his breath was sucked from him by the roiling firestorm that was his body.

The darkness Aldia had brought with him was being burnt away, and the fog gate which had turned black now became a veil of gold flames. Yet they did not harm, rather they soothed.

Erik raised a hand, and a ring glowed bright. Aldia was suddenly tackled to the ground by a dozen large figures. Everyone stared in surprise as strange, headless Giants crawled out of the pit that surrounded the Throne of Want and began to tear at the massive dragon, pinning it down.

The Giant's Kinship flared once more and the empty socket in the brutalized Giant's chests flared to life, a golden spark resting inside it. This seemed to empower the remains of Aldia's experiments and they tore at the monstrous man with greater fury. Numerous souls within Erik cheered at the sight, the Last Giant loudest among them. Her people were finally being avenged.

Erik held out his other hand, and the Blade of Eleum Loyce zoomed over to him. He grabbed it, and held it in both hands as he approached the trapped duke.

Aldia refused to be taken without a struggle, and he raged and thrashed but the golden energy spilling forth from the chef and the crown were draining the Darkness from his body.

 **"** **What are you?"** he demanded. For the first time in ages fear gripped what passed for a heart in the twisted effigy of a man. Erik stopped in front of the dragon's snout and tilted his head slightly as he appraised the fallen creature before him.

"I am Erik Potts, chef of Lindelt," he uttered.

Without another word he drove the helix blade into Aldia's forehead. The dragon twisted in pain, but was held still by the remains of the Giants. However, after a moment the dragon froze.

 **"** **You're… healing me?"** Aldia asked, incredulously. Everyone stared at Erik in shock, then at the body of Aldia. The tiny, insignificant strikes that had scratched his scales were fading.

"Yes." Erik gestured towards the Giants and they released the duke, to everyone's continued horror.

 **"** **You fool!"** Aldia cackled, lashing out with his claws. The chef stood there, golden fire wreathing his entire body. The blow never landed.

 **"** **What trickery is this?!"** the demented duke screamed. His entire hand had fallen off, spurts of golden flames gushing from the stump. All over his body fissures and rents were tearing his body open, spilling forth more golden flames that danced and flickered.

"You said it yourself. I healed you," Erik said, tone utterly cold. "And that includes all the countless innocent souls you've abused and consumed in order to sustain your own worthless life."

The golden fires took on the forms of people for a brief moment, their expressions joyous even as they tore apart the foul monstrosity they'd been trapped in.

"Nadalia said so, didn't she? Those black creatures you summoned were people who'd been trapped in the Abyss. By you. You were using their souls to keep yourself alive this whole time, no better then us Undead you so scoffed at," Erik explained. "A single spark was all that was needed to reignite their powers, and of course, their resentment. You now have the honor of being tore apart by your own victims. A fitting end to something like yourself."

 **"** **NO!"** Aldia roared, fruitlessly trying to snuff out the flames that clung to him. One of his eyes exploded as golden light spilled forth.

 **"** **Not like this! NOT LIKE THIS!"** Aldia cried as more and more of his body was replaced by glowing flames.

 **"** **I was supposed to be a god! I was supposed to save the world! Why did this happen… to… me…"** the Duke trailed off as last remnants of his black, scaly body vanished into golden flames.

For a moment, a blazing shape appeared in front of Erik, and took the form of Lucatiel. She vanished, along with the other flames that had consumed Aldia, before anything could be said or done.

Silence filled the air, and no one moved. The fog gate collapsed, and everyone from Majula who'd been outside poured in.

"Luca, my baby sister," Aslatiel wept, clutching her discarded armors to his chest. At his side Rosabeth and Cholanne were crying as well, with Mytha trying her best not to break into tears.

"You did it," Shanalotte said, as if she couldn't believe it at all. "You slew Aldia. Saved the Throne and the Fire."

"I did," Erik said, body still burning, though the amount had dropped. He let out a tired sigh. "Damn this new form. Can't even cry properly! The tears just evaporate!"

"I'll cry for you," Shanalotte said, stepping up beside the chef. She did not hesitate and wrapped him in a warm, comforting embrace. Silent tears fell from her eyes. Her nightmare was finally over.

"It's not finished yet. He still must take the Throne."

Everyone turned at the voice, and saw an incredible sight. A massive golden coffin was being carried into the Kiln by a quartet of Fenito's. At the front Agadyne led them, the four Milfanito's singing their ethereal song for the procession.

"Ah. Right," Erik said wearily. He looked at the ornate, decorated casket before him. "Is this the so-called First Coffin?"

"It is," Agadyne nodded. It was carefully set down in the center of the room and the leader of Nito's children proceeded to open it with a bone white key. In fact, the key may have been made from actual bone!

"So, what's the big deal with this thing?" Erik asked. He was tired to the bone, all the adrenaline having drained from his body.

The chef's question was answered as the lid popped open and light gushed forth.

"The 'big deal,' as it were, is a choice. Yours." A melodious voice called out as the light faded and everyone could see… that nothing had changed. At least, that was how it seemed.

A patch of ground turned to lava and a pillar of molten earth erupted before revealing a beautiful woman with long, raven hair and mismatched eyes. She was draped in an exotic black dress hemmed with golden silk.

"You see, every Chosen One has a choice. We made some rather foolish ones in our time. But, they were the correct ones when we came to them. Such is life," the elegant woman sighed.

"Quite. Unfortunately, you were forced to deal with the consequences. For that, I apologize." A man molded himself out of a crackling bolt of lightning that struck the ground. He was tall and grey haired, and looked like Vendrick and the Iron King. He wore an impressive crown, which helped with the likeness.

"In life, we may come to regret these choices. In death, we continue to do so. After all, it is our choices that define where we end up. Suffering or bliss." A mound of bones rose from the pit, shaping themselves into a massive humanoid pile of remains.

"From the Light comes the Dark. But sadly even that fades under the relentless march of time. What is good one day becomes bad the next. Villains become heroes as easily as they swap roles in the pages of history."

A scrawny, diminutive man slipped out of the shadows, his entire body seeming to be more at home in the dark than the light.

"It's time to make your choice, Monarch Candidate," a fifth and final voice boomed. Atop the petrified dome of ash and cinders the God of Peace stood, radiant and still looking uncannily like the chef.

"Light the Flame, or let it Fade. But remember what I told you. Love or hate will be the consequences of either."

Erik looked around, and noticed that everyone was frozen in place. Time had seemed to stop. He sighed and pulled himself from the Emerald Herald's grasp.

"I really, really, really do not want to have all this responsibility," Erik groaned. Yet even as he complained he strode forward. The Giants who had previously pinned down Aldia moved again, this time forming a bridge for Erik to cross to reach the Throne of Want. A door on the ashen dome slid aside, revealing the imposing black seat.

"Do not worry. My son will be there to guide you," the King crowned by Sun and Lightning assured the chef.

"Good. I'm going to need all the help I can get," he sighed. He stared at the throne for a while, lost in thought.

"Don't worry. In time, the Cycles will end. Of course, when that happens the barrier that keeps the Old Ones at bay will fall, and Madness from Beyond the Stars will descend. But I have faith our legacy and our descendants will endure. I mean, how much worse can what comes after the Darksign be?" the God of Peace asked.

"You just jinxed it," the Man who was more human than any of them complained as the other bearers of the Lord Souls facepalmed. "Now we're going to have freaky fish gods, or vampires, or men who become beasts at night!"

Erik sighed and tuned out the bickering deities and plopped himself unceremoniously into the Throne of Want.

"Here goes nothing…" he muttered as the door slide closed.

Taking a deep breathe, he let go of all the anger and pain he was holding in. He remembered his past self's warning about lighting the First Flame, and tried to fill his thoughts with happy ones. Of couse, he'd just emerged from a fierce, and costly, battle, and was not full of joy or sunshine.

Still, he peered into himself, and found a moment that made him smile. The memory of him kissing the Emerald Herald flashed before his eyes, and he savored every moment of it. Then, he opened his eyes and stared out at the woman in question. He caught a glimpse of Shanalotte before it sealed him in, and a thought struck the chef.

"I just realized I never asked what her name was!"

.

\\\~~~/

.

 ** _Author's Note: Stay tuned for an exciting epilogue! After this story I will be taking a short break to catch my breath and catch up to other issues in my life. I'll hopefully be back in the fall with a new story. Probably not Dark Souls related, though. Maybe I'll make a collection of Omakes for what happens in DS 1, 2, and 3 based on this continuity. But we'll see. Till then!_**


	55. Chapter 55: Epilogue

_**Epilogue: All things end, and all things begin**_

.

Surrounded by gold and recently repaired marble, there was a vast number of people dressed in finery who were standing, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

It had been nearly a year since the world had been reborn in the fires of the First Flame, and things were changing rapidly for everyone who had been involved.

So much had been lost, and so many had been displaced, that trying to rebuild the world was going to take decades, if not centuries.

According to Gwyndolin, this was the worst Cycle since the first one. The Abyss had nearly crawled out of its prison thanks to the insane Hexers who followed a wheelchair bound man. Erik had spent some time with the Dark Sisters hunting down this Abyss seeking covenant, and with his newfound godly powers sealed off the Shadow Altars.

Not to mention Nahr Alma had run amok, murdering gods and mortals alike as the world ended. And Chaos had threatened to erupt in Eleum Loyce, and so many other issues needed handling at the same time, many of them due to Aldia's experiments.

Erik and his fellow newborn gods had had their work cut out for them. Now, though, emergency repairs had been carried out on Drangleic castle and a few other buildings to allow for an elegant show of power for the visiting dignitaries.

From every corner of the world they came, all eager to greet their champions and new lords. The old gods still clung to their scraps of power, and only a few cults remained that were loyal. Still, they would be dealt with in time. Out with the old, in with the new.

Erik paced around, draped in gold and purple. His outfit was identical to the one his past self had once worn, according to Gwyndolin.

"Stop your wandering, Erik," a strong voice called out. The chef glanced over to a man in stunning crimson armor.

"Sorry, Vengarl. It's just so nerve wracking! I mean, these are people I'm going to be ruling over, now! I have to make laws, and tell them how to do this and that! And I have no idea how to do so!"

"Just do what you did in the Kiln with all that honor and nobility talk and you'll be fine," the formerly headless knight said. He had changed immensely after the First Flame was linked. Most noticeable was his armor. The rust had been scoured off, revealing ruby-red metal of unknown origin. As for himself, his hair had turned flowing and elegant, while he was now over ten feet tall.

Vengarl was a god now. Blessed by the First Flame, he was part of the new pantheon alongside Erik.

"It's time!" A voice called out. Benhart hurried over, dressed in elegant gold and silver armor. He was taller and more muscular looking, and his giant glowing sword looked like a normal sized one for him.

He was now a demigod. Not a full god, but for his act in slaying a dragon the Flame had blessed him with great power beyond what he normally would have earned.

Erik nodded, and shared a look with Vengarl. The beast of a man slapped the chef jovially and they headed out into the audience hall in Drangleic castle. Before them were arrayed the dignitaries from a dozen kingdoms.

Lords and ladies, resplendent in silks and jewels, watched with bated breath as a series of divine figures stepped into view.

Gwyndolin appeared next, his robe long enough to hide his twist limbs as he glided across the floor.

"Ye all who hath come here, I bid thee welcome," the Darksun began, his words archaic and fancy to set the mood. "I, the Darksun, am here to crown the new pantheon, as is befitting mine role as Shepard of the First Flame."

"Kneel before the God of War, Vengarl! He who slew Nahr Alma the Murderous, who struck down Veldstadt the Ruinous, who avenged those murdered by the Demon of Song!"

Cheers and applause were rather muted. Most people, especially those in Lindelt, remembered the bloody legends of the infamous Butcher. He took it in stride though, and gave a nod to the assembled heroes.

"Kneel before the Goddess of Love, Mytha! She who banished Ichorous Earth, who brought fire to the Frozen North, who united lovers and defended that bond!"

Mytha was next. She had been blessed beyond measure. Already a beautiful woman, her radiance was now stunning. She wore red and gold robes styled after the Pyromancers and Handmaidens who had come with her to Alken, but instead of a hood let her luminous raven hair flow free. She needed no make-up to show off her full red lips or sensuous figure, and she winked flirtatiously at the crowd.

"Kneel before the God of Wisdom, Carhillion! He who learned the secrets of the Soul, who comprehended the will of the world, who made the powers of sorcery bend to his commands!"

The sorcerer from Melfia was the next to be granted divinity. It was a surprise to him and everyone, but he took it in stride. Especially when the blessing reversed his age significantly, so he looked like a man in his forties rather than his late seventies. Sorcery crackled about his frame, showing off his immense magical capacity. He was shooting smug looks at the Melfian delegation, which included some of the inner circle who had once tried to belittle him and drive him out.

"Kneel before the God of Storms, Saulden! He who fought the twisted nightmares of the Rotting Forest, who aided in the slaughter of the Brotherhood of Blood, and who struck down the Sea Beast!"

This too was an interesting one. He had once been a Monarch Candidate, so his souls was already worthy enough for divinity. But he had given it all up. Perhaps he had redeemed himself in the First Flame's eyes by aiding in the battle against Aldia. As such, he had been granted a chunk of its power. The mopey knight had been surprised, and then annoyed at the realization he'd have to keep doing paperwork. Covenant masters had it hard enough!

"Kneel before the Goddess of Earth, Chloanne! She who banished a Demon of Gluttony, who delved the secrets of Titanite, who struck out against the Abyss!"

Another of the surprises. As one of Erik's companions, she had seen much, and earned great power and favor. He knowledge of Titanite had only grown since then, and now she could shape the earth with her mind. Of course, her figure also got a massive boost from the divinity. Her already stunning bosom was now explosively large, and was barely contained in her black and gold stress. Her brown hair wavered ethereally, no longer held in her pony tail.

"And finally, kneel before the one who reignited the First Flame and ended the Curse of the Undead! Praise the God of Unity, Erik! He who saved instead of slew, who vanquished the deepest evils and saved the world from those who sought to end the world!"

Thunderous applause roared out as Erik stepped up to accept his new authority. Nearby, all the other people who had joined him stood. Not merely as humans though. The First Flame had turned them into Demigods so they could stand at his side in the new world order.

All except Shanalotte, though she watched the ceremony from the shadows of the back room.

Erik stared out over the crowd, and smiled. This was going to be interesting. Not all of the new gods had been found yet, so he had to find those next. And finish repair Drangleic's infrastructure. And oh god this was going to take a long time!

"Finally! I thought I was going to be stuck standing there forever! All that handshaking and kowtowing!" Erik shook his head in disbelief.

"There, there. Don't worry too much. At least it's over now." Shanalotte stepped over to him, a bundle of cloth held tightly in her arms.

"Yeah. It's going to be lonely in here," Erik said. Vengarl was leaving for Forossa to rebuild his home. As the successor to the God of Knights, Vengarl was going to bring this bandit ridden kingdom to its former glory.

Raime was going to be acting as Erik's agent for the Dark Ones. With the First Flame reborn, the Sisters needed someone to protect them, especially with Nashandra dead. So the former knight took up the duty as guardian. He was supposedly thinking of forming a Covenant based on protecting his new mistresses, while also protecting regular people from rampant Abyss outbreaks and keeping idiots away from pursuing the Dark.

Mytha was rebuilding Alken with the aid of Chloanne. It was to be a new kingdom to stand alongside Erik's. It would take years to clear away all the dried lava and slagged buildings.

Carhillion was headed to Melfia to reorganize the sorcerers and teach them common sense. Now that he had the power to change them, he was going to take the chance.

Saulden and the Twin Azure Orders were being repurposed as the local defenders of the land while the repairs were underway. Eventually they'd be made into a regular army led by Erik and Saulden.

As for the rest, they were scattered across the land, helping fix up Drangleic while staking their claims on new homes, treasures, and duties. It was going to be a while before they came back.

Erik's musings were cut short by a faint whimper, and his face immediate twisted in a loving expression.

"May I?" He asked, and Shanalotte held out the bundle in her arms. He took it reverently and looked down at the result of him and the Emerald Herald 'celebrating' Aldia's demise after he'd linked the First Flame.

A beautiful baby girl lay nestled in soft purple and black cloth, pale white skin contrasting sharply with her rich black hair.

"She's beautiful," Shanalotte murmured, stroking the soft, black hair of her child. Erik grinned down at his wife, planting a kiss on her forehead with a saucy grin.

"She truly is. She has your eyes, after all," The chef-turned-god said with a loving look at their precious daughter. Indeed, the child of the two Enkindled Gods of Drangleic was an angelic babe. Her skin was smooth and free of blemishes with a hue like alabaster. Her head was covered in a thick, unruly patch of silky black hair that would no doubt be a marvel when she was older.

Finally, there were her eyes. One brown with black iris, the other purple with a sapphire core. Both orbs looking up at her parents with childish love and wonder.

"Oh, Rosaria. You truly have a great future," Shanalotte sighed joyfully, a touch of moistness spilling into her own eyes. It was a name the two of them had agreed on long before the birth. It was a name that had been chosen by the baby's grandmother, after all.

"We'll raise her properly. She won't forget the sacrifices of the past, or the burdens of the future," Erik replied solemnly.

"Pardon my intrusion." The happy couple looked up to see Gwyndolin slither in.

"May I?" The elder God asked, hands outstretched. Erik nodded and passed Rosaria over. She smiled up at the youthful god, giggling as she tried to grab his mask-crown-thing.

"She is truly remarkable," the Darksun praised. He then frowned. "But cursed, just like I."

Erik frowned and comforted his wife. They had known since she was born that Rosaria would be special. The Darksun had sadly confirmed it then, and again today.

"Do you have any idea how it happened?"

"A miracle," Gwyndolin said. "Normally, gods cannot give birth. My sister gave birth to Priscilla due to her partner being non-human. Same for this situation. After all, the First Flame can only do so much. Shanalotte was a homunculus created by Aldia. She was not fully human. Even if her ancestry included the reincarnation of the Witch of Izalith and another Daughter of Chaos. And that is why she was able to give birth."

The Darksun sighed. "Hail Rosaria, Goddess of Rebirth. She will be like me, separate from the whims of the Cycle. She will not lose her godly power until the day the First Flame dies."

"I will keep her safe when you two lose your powers. In may take thousands of years for the Cycle to come again, but I will be ready to step in and keep Rosaria safe."

"Thank you, Gwyndolin," Erik said. The Darksun passed his daughter back.

"I do what is necessary. For the Flame, and for my first friend," Gwyndolin assured. He turned away.

"Goodbye, you two. I will likely not see you again. My duties will keep me busy, as will yours. Live well."

He vanished into a portal, leaving the couple alone with their baby.

"Shall we adjourn to the bedroom? I made some dinner, and have some candles. We can make it a romantic evening," Erik offered after a moment, waggling his eyebrows.

Shanalotte smiled. "I'd like that."

Hand in hand, they walked off, eager joy easily overcoming their apprehensions of the future.

In a desecrated world covered in ash and cinders, a lone being trudged through filth. he was aglow with the final sparks of the First Flame. His duty was an odd one. Not to link the legendary source of souls, but to kill it. It was finally time to let it die, and usher in a new world.

He was the Ashen One, Enkindled to remake the world. He was the Unkindled, an empty husk from the past, his memories blank. He knew only his mission, given to him by a strange, crying hermaphrodite with snake legs.

He paused in front of a grand, yet ruined, cathedral, mind swirling with thoughts. Why was he doing this? Why was he sad when he saw the strange being crying over his coffin as he woke? He shrugged, and entered.

Inside it was chilly, the sun not touching it, and the shadows deep and thick. A woman with silky pale hair wearing a black dress and a tiara over her eyes greeted him.

"Welcome to the bonfire, Unkindled One. I am a Firekeeper. I tend to the flame, and tend to thee..." She trailed off, her rehearsed speech faltering as she 'gazed' upon the newcomer.

She had seen many people, even after the removal of her eyes. Even that could not stop her from sensing souls.

Undead, both Hollowed and still clinging to sanity. Ordinary mortals, trapped or fleeing the dead city long ago. Demonic beings and Abyssal abominations, all hungry for souls. Gods, who perished one by one until only two remained.

And Unkindled by the boatload. Yet never before had she 'seen' a being like this one.

A vast, pulsing soul, purest white stained with gold. Such a bizarre soul she had never seen before!

It felt familiar as well. Like it belonged to a friend she had not seen forever. Or something deeper than that. More meaningful than mere 'friends.'

He approached, and a look of confusion came upon him.

"My lady, this might seem strange to you, but I have the feeling I've met you before. Have we?"

"That would be impossible, my lord. I have never seen you before in my life."

'But why does my heart and soul ache for me so badly?' She thought.

"Strange. I too have never met you before, and to be honest much of my past is a blur. I Remember dying, becoming an Undead, then nothing but blackness. Little else. Yet somehow my soul feels... connected to you."

He took a step forward. "May I see your eyes?"

She shook her head. "No! It would be a sin!"

He frowned, then took another step. Then another. And another, until he was in front of her. He reached out, faster than she could react, and removed her crown.

At first she sputtered indignantly, but something strange happened. As the metal blindfold was taken away, fire tingled in her empty sockets, and she with a scream she collapsed.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry!" he knelt beside her, worry on his face. He helped her to her feet, apologizing profusely.

"Tis fine, no harm... done?" the Firekeeper muttered, again losing her voice. She could see. She could SEE!

The dirt, the rust, the ash, the ruin... everything was there! She reached up with trembling hands to her face, and instead of finding empty sockets dripping with liquid Humanity, she found actual eyeballs!

She quickly turned to look at the man who had done this to her.

Messy dark hair, with bizarrely innocent eyes. Armed not with a sword or staff, but a simple knife and a glowing hand full of Pyromancy. And above all else, an easy, kind smile that seemed so out of place in this dismal realm, yet at the same time so right to be upon his face.

When the smile was turned upon her the Firekeeper felt her heart skip a beat. Why?

"You have such beautiful eyes," he complimented, leaning in close. "One is purple and blue, the other brown and green."

He tenderly reached out and caressed a strand of her hair. A fiery blushed cover the Firekeeper's face at his words and actions.

"Who are you?" She mumbled, embarrassed.

"I don't know," he admitted, looking out over the ruins of the world. "But I do know I'd like to get to know you better. How about a nice meal?"

"You can cook?" She asked, surprised.

A look of bewilderment came over the Unkindled.

"Huh. I guess I can. I didn't know I could, either!" he laughed and led the Firekeeper over to the bonfire, still holding her hand.

Maybe this mission of his in this apocalypse wouldn't be so bad after all!

.

\\\~~~/

 **And that's all, folks!**

 **It's been a wild ride and a lot of fun writing this story, but i wouldn't have it any other way!**

 **As I mentioned in last chapter's Author Notes, I will be taking a break from writing for a bit to focus on the more annoying and mundane aspects of life. When I come back, I do not know what I will be writing. I don't have any plans for a DS 3 or Bloodborne sequel, only because I have not played/finished playing them. I might experiment with a few omakes though, using Erik and his past and future selves to frame what happened then-and-now. Not sure about it, though.**

 **Thanks for reading though!**


	56. Omake: Why-Kindled (DS3)

_**Why-Kindled:**_

 _ **.**_

"Ya know, why theys got to call me 'Unkindled' all the time, ya know?"

It had started off so innocently. Really, it had! Don't give me that look, you weren't there!

*Ahem!*

Anyways, it had all started off innocently enough. Dahl, the most recent Unkindled One, had managed to do quite a lot in his time in the ruins of the world. Saved damsels, knights, and a goodly number of monsters as well.

In order to celebrate the newest Lord of Cinder to be put back on their throne the Firelink Shrine's denizens had decided to throw a party.

Everyone, from Andre the Blacksmith, to Anri and her companion Horace, Eygon and Irina of Carim, Sirris, Orbeck, Hawkwood, Leonhard, Picklepum, Sister Friede, Vilhem, Yorshka, the Handmaid and Fire Keeper, and of course, Siegward, life of the party.

The Undead Onion Knight from Catarina provided the group with a large cask of Siegbrau, making the party a lot more lively than they'd anticipated.

Why? Well, simply put, it turned out that there were a few light weights among the drinkers.

"An' thash why I say I should be called 'Rekindled!'" Dahl drunken complained, slamming his fist onto the stone slab being used as a table. His wrist snapped and he looked at the broken appendage dully until he began to flail about in pain.

After drinking some Estus to recover he then took a swig of Siegbrau to wash the taste of Liquid Flame from his mouth.

"I mean, ish not like I'm lacking a spark of the First Flame," he continued as if he dance of pain mere seconds ago hadn't occurred. "An' I technically can't be 'unkindled' if I have that, right? I mean, I'm a guy whosh on fire. So I have to be 'rekindled' 'cause I was set on fire to be brought back to life. It all makesh sense."

He nodded resolutely, challenging anyone to deny his wisdom.

"How much has Dahl had so far?" Sirris asked, leaning over to Siegward. The Onion Knight rolled his eyes beneath his helmet.

"Hasn't even finished his first mug! Boy's a total light weight when it comes to alcohol!"

The Knight of the Darkmoon winced at that, and stared at the Chosen One.

"Wow."

"I know right!" Andre cackled as he watched the drunken hero try to explain to Picklepum why soft and fluffy was so much better than musical and fun items.

The two were very close to getting into a brawl over the matter.

It was only thanks to Anri of Astora's intervention that the two did not descend into a punching match.

Of course, when the knightess began to weep they realized the prim and proper warrior maiden was a weepy drunk. This amused everyone watching to no end.

"You have to tell me your secrets!" Anri bawled, falling to her knees and grabbing Dahl's legs. This caused the Unkindled to trip and fall.

"Wha you need me to tell ya?" Dahl slurred, confused as to why he lay on the floor.

"Your secrets about attracting people to you! I needs it!"

"I've tried everything!" Anri continued as she wept. "Compliments, innuendos, even undressing in front of him, but he never reacts!"

"Now, now, I'm shure if ya just tell Horace ya fancy him everything will be all right," Dahl said kindly. The knight in question began to blush and turned away, even as eyes fell on him.

"But I can't do that, I'm too nervous and shy!" Anri whined drunkenly as she flailed around on the floor like an overgrown child.

"I get tongue-tied whenever I try, and it's just sho hard to talk to him!" She leaned in close and in a very loud whisper told Dahl, "His helmet is sho shexy!"

"I know, right?!" the Unkindled exclaimed. "I'm sho glad I is not the only one who think sho!"

Everyone was staring at the two babbling Undead, and at a flustered Horace. In the background Ludleth was cackling madly at the drama unfolding.

"You've gots lots of pretty women hanging off of ya, so yous gots to tells me your secret!" Anri begged.

"I haves pretty ladies?" Dahl asked stupidly.

"Yeah, you'ves gots the Fire Keeper, and Yor, um, Yol, uh, Yon, um, pretty dragon-lady, all chasing after yer 'flaming sword,'" Anri said, making an obscene gesture towards the two women who blushed bright crimson.

"And don't ya tell mes ya hasn't seen how Irina's been lookin' at yer ass!" she let out a cackle. "And we've all seen how the Dancer looks at it as well! I means, ya beat in her dat dance off to pass, and totes won so you knows ya gots 'junk in da trunk' as Orbeck would put it."

The knightess paused and took a moment to stare at the posterior in question. "It is a nice butt though. If I wasn't so dedicated to getting Horace to howl my name as I ride him I would totally get a piece of dat."

By now everyone was either roaring with laughter or looking away in sheer embarrassment. Irina was twitching silently at being called out for her wandering eyes while Eygon twitched with suppressed rage towards the Unkindled.

Horace was silently praying for anything to appear and end this insanity, while Orbeck looked annoyed at finding out Anri had been reading his private and personally written collection of poetry and songs.

Andre and Siegward were trying to support each other as they howled with laughter, Picklepum laughing along as well though it was clear the childish Crow-Woman wasn't sure what everyone found so funny and just went along with it.

Sirris was busy fanning her commander, the white clad half-dragon's face so flushed and heated she resembled a feverish, sickly lady. The Fire Keeper just had her hands in her face, wishing she didn't have her eyes so she didn't have to see everyone's leers and jeers directed at her.

Dahl blinked and looked around the room, unsure of why everyone was so mirthful. He shared a look with Anri who just shrugged.

"I dunno wats so funny," she said. Her eyes then fell on her stoic, silent companion and she staggered over, grabbing his shoulder and dragging him away.

"I is gonna show ya a good time," she said with a sultry expression. She leaned in. "We're gonna do it so hard you'll be reborn at the bonfire. Twice."

Under his helmet Horace's face went from pale to red and back to pale very quickly. He tried to escape but Drunk-Anri was a lot stronger than she looked, and the pair soon disappeared into the depths of Firelink Shrine.

The Unkindled One staggered to his feet and wobbled over to the Fire Keeper who blushed fiercely and tried to block the images that rose in her mind of the tall, handsome man carrying her off to a bed and ravishing her.

Dahl put his hands on the Fire Keeper and leaned in.

"Hey, can ya do something for me?" he asked, voice and mind addled by the potent drink.

"W-w-what is it?" she gasped, face heating up as he brought his face close to hers.

"Can ya change my title to 'Rekindled One?' And if so, do I have ta file any documents? Will there be a surcharge fee?"

The pale haired Fire Keeper stared at Dahl blankly.

"What."

Dahl opened his mouth to reply, but toppled forward, his face landing in her chest.

She squeaked indignantly at the crass interaction, but calmed down when she heard snores coming from the Chosen One.

She looked down at the man who was nestled happily in her bountiful bosom, then at the rest of the Undead who were watching with interest and varying degrees of jealousy,

"If any of you speak a word of this to him when he wakes up I will repossess all the power-ups I've given you," she threatened, and everyone hastily looked away, whistling innocently.

She sighed and looked down at the man she'd found herself growing to care for before shifting him so his head was in her lap.

A faint smile cross her lips, and she stroked his hair, her souls aching with long forgotten memories.

.

.

 _ **Authors Note: Well, I'm back! For now. Here's the first chapter of the new Omake series, Keeping the Hearth Warm! It will have quick little stories about all three Souls games, and maybe one or two about Bloodborne!**_

 _ **I also have two new full stories coming out soon! One is a Nier Automata story about the last spark of hope in a dead, pointless world. The other is a Disney crossover story featuring a chump from our reality getting dropped into a world of magic and sunshine and rainbows.**_

 _ **The first story was inspired by my play-through of one of the best games I've played in a long time. The second is due to a minor form of Stockholm Syndrome I experienced after binge-watching almost all the Disney animated movies with my younger cousins.**_

 _ **I will upload a few more of these Omakes to this story so people will see it as well as add them to the already up new story.**_

 _ **Hope you like!**_


	57. Omake: How to Run your Kingdom (DS2)

**_How to rule your kingdom:_**

 ** _._**

Erik was massaging his temples, trying to mitigate the biting pain of a raging headache.

For the past two hours he had been forced to listen to a pair of farmers argue about who owned the rights to a piece of land.

However, what was truly causing the recently ascended god all the pain and trouble was the fact that neither of them wanted it, yet both contested it as theirs and wanted to keep it from the other person.

The parcel of farmland was a swampy chunk of rotting earth that belched fumes of toxic gas once a month. Nothing grew, not even Purple Moss! The footing to get to the chunk of land was hazardous, with potholes and sharp thorned briars ringing the border between the toxic region and the healthy area.

And yet it lay between two farms, and neither farmer wanted to give it up despite all its problems.

And so, their petty feud had gone to local court. Then kept on rising until it was pushed off onto the highest authority's lap to deal with.

"Stop," Erik commanded, halting the farmers incessant yammering before it could become a fist fight between the two of them. Again.

At his command the two peas anted ceased talking and turned to the new lord and master of Drangleic.

"It is clear to me that you don't want the land, but neither do you want the other person to have it. As such, the only clear option is to give it to a third party, where they will deal with it," Erik said firmly, his godly voice booming over the throne room. He jabbed his finger at the pair of feuding farmers and they quailed under his annoyed gaze.

"The land is hereby confiscated, and turned over to the kingdom of Drangleic. It is now royal property. And I issue a decree stating that anyone who trespasses in that parcel of royal territory will become the new owner of the land. That'll be punishment enough for them," Erik declared, the last words earning a muffled chuckle from one of his guards.

The two farmers bowed deeply and began to utter their thanks but the God of Unity waved them off. They were escorted out of the throne room and as the doors closed the former chef could finally relax.

"I just don't understand some people," Erik groused, and he slumped in his gilded gold and titanite throne. "For one thing, why would anyone want to build a farm near the run-off zone from the Gutter? And why would they hate another person so much that they would want to keep a poisoned patch of land out of their hands just for spite?"

"It's the principle of the matter," the guard stationed to the left of his throne stated.

Aslatiel shifted a bit, still getting used to not wearing his Mirrahian armor, and instead wearing the new uniform of a demi-god. Though he was glad he got to keep his battle-coat. That thing was a snazzy piece of defense.

"Things like that happened in Mirrah all the time. It's about the amount of land for some farmers, rather than the use of it. Especially when the area is fallow or blighted, the only pride some men can take from what they own is how much of it they have," Aslatiel explained to his lord.

"I see. Still, I'm going to have to find a way to keep issues like that from ever getting this high in the court system. Another thing to add to the redesign of the legal code," Erik grumbled.

His guard to the right of the throne let out a boisterous laugh. "You could just say 'Screw it, it's your problem now,' and leave everything to a steward for a while."

"That's how kingdoms like Lindelt got started, Benhart," Erik argued. "The gods who were supposed to lead and guide got bored of being everyone's babysitter and just left it to humans to rule themselves. The stewards named themselves 'kings' after a few generations, and when the gods didn't punish them for assuming more and more power their newfound authority went to their heads. I'm not going to let that happen in this cycle. It will be hard, grueling, thankless work, but I shall not abandon these people."

"And that's why we stand at your side, my lord," Aslatiel said firmly. "We care about everyone, especially the lowborn."

"Plus, you promised us we could leave your service if you ever forgot these oaths you've taken," Benhart reminded. The knight from Jugo smiled fondly at the younger man. "But I doubt that will happen. You're too much of a nice guy to leave people to fend for themselves when you could help."

"Thanks," Erik said, touched by their kindness.

Further introspection was cut off when the doors to the throne room slammed open and Shanalotte stormed in. Several of the merely mortal guards outside looked apologetic at the intrusion.

"Honey…?" Erik began, but was cut off when the heterochromatic woman shoved a baby into his lap.

"Here. Watch Rosaria for me. I have a spa date with Mytha, Chloanne, and Rosabeth," the wife of the God of Unity declared, bags under her eyes and hair mussed up and tangled.

"Uh…"

"Thanks, love you, bye!"

And with that Shanalotte left as quick as she came, and Erik stared befuddled at the cute baby in his hands. The tiny lifeform of pure cuteness yawned and opened her eyes before smiling happily at her father.

She then immediately began crying, and Erik looked on helplessly at the wailing child.

"Wh-what do I do? Is she hurt?" He asked in a panic. Benhart rolled his eyes and took the baby from his lord and began to shush and rock her softly. Her screams faded and she cooed happily at the bearded demi-god.

"Sometimes they want attention, sometimes they want food, sometimes is a whole host of different reasons," Benhart stated. "I had several sons and daughters at home before I was cursed with undeath. And they all loved being rocked gently like this."

"You know, a part of me is kind of glad Rosabeth and I cannot have children," Aslatiel mused. He had taken the Pyromancer of Melfia as his wife not long ago, and she had been made Erik's Court Sorceress not long after. Even if flames were her specialty she still had been the top student of one of the greatest sages of the land, and knew all about Sorcery from Carhillion.

"She wants to adopt, though, and I'm trying to get her to pick a kid who's old enough not to need constant attention," Aslatiel stated when he saw the looks his two companions were giving him. "We're too busy right now trying to keep the entire kingdom running in our respective ways to dedicate much time to a newborn like she wants. Maybe in a century or two when the land is more stable."

The former sword master of Mirrah blinked before shaking his head, bemused. "And I never thought I would start measuring time in centuries rather than years and decades!"

"Being immortal is going to take some getting used to," Benhart agreed, passing Rosaria back to her father. She was happier now and Erik gladly took her and began to play by making faces.

"Personally, I don't know if I could stand to adopt a child, knowing I will outlive them without fail. Well, unless I get killed in battle or something. Still, that seems something far too cruel to go through, to myself and to any child."

Erik nodded sadly. The idea of his daughter dying before him scared the new god more than anything. At least his friends he had made in Drangleic would all live long and prosperous lives beside him. Those who were not full gods had all been made Demi-gods, even Gilligan!

"So, who wants lunch?" Erik asked, standing from his throne. "I want to see if the new chefs I've hired for the castle have managed to make a few more of Donovan's dishes?"

"Always thinking of food, aren't you?" Benhart chuckled.

"You're just hoping they messed up so you can step in and do some cooking!" Aslatiel accused with a laugh.

"Gah-bah-pth!" Rosaria burbled.

Erik looked down meekly at the floor. "Am I really that transparent?"

"YES!" Everyone, even his regular human servants, shouted at him.

The God of Unity's shoulders slumped. And everyone shared a laugh at his expense. Just like old times!

.

.

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Here's the second Omake! I will post two more of them here: One for DS1, and one for Bloodborne. After that, they'll all go straight to the Omake story.**_

 _ **Also, my Nier: Automata story is now up as well! Introducing Nier: Automata [(RE)Birth]! What happens when the world is empty, and your reason for living was a lie? Find a new reason. Or, perhaps if fate is willing, an old purpose. 2B, 9S, and A2 now have to discover their own truths in a world following the rise and fall of the Tower. And, they have a special companion at their side.**_


	58. Omake: Naughty Snake! (DS1)

**_._**

 ** _Naughty Snake!_**

 ** _._**

Things had not gone as planned. Not at all!

The First Flame had been reignited by some selfless fool who believed in good and honor and all that crap. And somehow, despite everything they had been led to believe, the sacrifice had not perished, but in fact risen to become the first of a new pantheon of gods!

This had not been part of the plan!

Deep in the inky black of the Abyss Kaathe was busy ordering his Darkwraiths to the surface to try and block that bastard's advance into the lower reaches. The newly ascended deity had begun a crusade to cleanse the tainted regions of Lordran, and had chosen to start with New Londo.

The sunken city spewed forth its vile minions, and at first the Dark worshipping Primordial Serpent had been confident he could hold back the forces of a newly ascended god.

The Darkwraiths he commanded were the boogeymen of the world. Able to invade any region or location thanks to the Red Eye Orbs he had fashioned from the plucked eyeballs of Abyss tainted mortals, the Darkwraiths could murder anyone anywhere. They could steal the Humanity of others with but a touch, and the Curse of the Undead made them nigh immortal, even without the Abyssal ichor flowing in their veins.

And they were strong. Utterly fearless and armed with a fraction of the Abyss's might, the bone-clad knights Kaathe had gathered were more than a match for the Blades of the Darkmoon or any other champion the 'God of Peace' could bring.

At least, that's what it had first been like. But lately his forces had been driven back inch by bloody inch. Kaathe had miscalculated greatly; with the First Flame reborn the Darksign was gone, and with it the majority of the Darkwraiths powers. They no longer needed to steal Humanity to survive, and in fact many had tried to abandon the Covenant when they learned they were free.

And most importantly, all the Dark based powers the Darkwraiths had obtained were pitifully weakened now. Their Dark Hand ability was gone, and with it their Humanity stealing. They were no longer immortal, either, as the Curse of the Undead was totally lifted. Without the Darksign to resurrect the dead, their numbers dwindled with each battle.

And without the Darksign the Red Eye Orbs didn't work as well as they should have anymore. What shock and awe the Darkwraiths held over their former victims was greatly lessened, and with the God of Peace leading the charge personally into New Londo his forces had splintered and been put to the sword.

Everything was ruined!

Kaathe seethed in anger, but paused when one of his few loyal minions ran to him, blabbering nonsense. Unable to decipher the Darkwraith's words the Covenant Master rose from the Darkness to see what all the fuss was about. He froze, paralyzed as he looked over the battlefield.

For the first time in centuries, the sun had returned to New Londo.

A tall, unearthly man radiating pure light strode through the cavernous depths of the city, his aura igniting all that stood in his way. The vast piles of bodies, victims of the city's downfall, were set aflame, purified into ash. The phantoms, intangible nightmares that had guarded New Londo since it fell, exploded and faded into mist as the rays of divine energy fell upon them. The ooze monsters, born from Abyss tainted rot and mold, melted into puddle of steaming ichor and burst into flame.

Some Darkwraiths fell to their knees, weeping in pain and shame. Others tried to run. It mattered little, as all of the bone armored knights became living pillars of flame as the Darkness inside of them ignited in the presence of the First Flame's avatar.

Kaathe trembled in fear as he watched the God of Peace approach.

"Ah, Chosen One, you've returned," the Primordial Serpent said weakly. It could feel the power radiating from the god, and he was not so foolish as to think he could fight and win against this being.

"Kaathe," the God of Peace spat, looking over the monstrous snake with disgust in his eyes. He hefted his occult blade, the Server, from its resting place on his shoulders and pointed it at the Darkwraith's master.

Without a word he lunged, scoring a deep wound on Kaathe's belly. Noisome fluids spurted from it, and the serpent bellowed in pain. Before he could retreat into the Abyss his fleshy moustache was grabbed and he was pulled down in front of the God of Peace.

"This is the end!" He roared, and the god tore the 'moustache' off of Kaathe's face.

"You and Frampt have manipulated us long enough. It was you and your kin who led Gywn and the others to the First Flame! You lot who tried to manipulate the world and all that happened since! Well no more!"

"You think I do not know what you are? What the 'Primordial Serpents' truly represent? You are naught but rotten intestinal worms born from the putrid entrails of a fallen Star-Lord. The very same one whose corpse became the First Flame."

The God of Peace threw down the massive snake onto the stained tile floor and placed his blade on its neck.

"Your meddling ends here."

"If you slay me, I will only return!" Kaathe spat, mocking the Chosen One. "I am one with the Flame, as are my kin! Our father will rise and there is nothing you pathetic mortals can do about it!"

"I know. Which is why I won't put you down like you so rightly deserve."

Kaathe stared in confusion at the god before golden flaming chains erupted from an outstretched palm. They wrapped around Kaathe's body and shot into the Darkness. Muffled howls could be heard from below, as well as the 'fwoosh!' of the last of the Darkwraiths igniting.

"I break your Covenant, Kaathe, and all who are a part of it now perish. And I bind you with my powers given to me by the First Flame. Only when the First Flame is about to truly fade and die will you be able to escape from your prison."

"You cannot do this!" Kaathe screamed, thrashing about. But the golden chains only dug deeper and tighter. "This Cycle will end and you will lose all your powers, and then I will be free!"

The God of Peace snorted. "I thought of that. I am not so foolish as to not plan ahead in that regard. Which is why I've anchored these chains which now bind you, and soon will bind the rest of the Primordial Serpents, to the Kiln itself, rather than my own soul. The Kiln is eternal, like the Flame it guards. Its form may change but even if the tiniest spark of the First Flame remains it will endure. And thus keep you prisoner until it fades."

Kaathe began to scream and struggle even harder, but the chains refused to release him. Instead, they started to drag the deformed snake away towards his new prison. He would join Frampt in bondage in the deepest level of the Kiln, hidden from all prying eyes.

The newly born god gave one last look around the area before stalking off. A red robed man with a bird-like mask approached the deity timidly.

"My lord, what will you do now?"

"I will destroy this place. It is too drenched in the Abyss's power, and will continue to be a cursed realm unless it is cleansed. If you have any belongings, I suggest you take them now, Yulva."

The last Sealer of New Londo shook his head and retreated up towards the elevator which would take him to Firelink Shrine. A few Blades of the Darkmoon saluted the lone warden of the city as he passed before the turned to the God of Peace for orders.

"The Darkwraiths are gone, and will not darken the world for a long time to come. However, justice must be ever vigilant. Evil always will try to thrive when good men do nothing. Now, return to Gwyndolin and inform him I am almost finished with this place. And that he should prepare for purging the Tomb of the Giants next."

Salutes and flashes of blue light greeted him, and the god sighed once no one was left to observe him. He ascended the stairs and stood on the edge of the cliff that looked over the ruins of New Londo.

He raised his hands, and the light that surrounded him coalesced into a massive ball of solar fury. He then hurled it into the center of the damned city and watched silently as everything burned. Only when all was ash and baked mud did he leave, collapsing the cavern in on itself.

.

.

 _ **Author's Note: Well, well, well, here we are! The Dark Souls 1 Omake! I'd wanted this up last week, but things happened related to the storm. A relative of mine stopped taking their mind-meds and walked out of the house during the flooding, and we haven't found them yet. The last time they did this, they disappeared for a few months and ended up in a hospital in New Mexico. So, we're a bit worried.**_

 _ **Aside from all that, alongside the second chapter of my Nier Automata story, Chapter 1 of my other story will be popping up as well. Not much else to say. Return to your lives, citizens!**_


	59. Omake: Blood and Fire (BB)

**_._**

 ** _Blood and Fire:_**

 ** _._**

Allister Dunadain was a simple man, with simple taste. Wine fine, excellent food, and not getting mauled by nightmarish beasts in the blood soaked ruins of a once noble city.

Was that really so much to ask?

Apparently it was, as he cut down yet another demented and malformed pig-thing.

This one though was unique compared to the others he had fought within Yharnam, This pig was far more boar-like, and had razor sharp and barbed tusks. Its skull and bones protruded from its body, forming a hardened bone helm and plate that protected it head and upper body. It was able to deflect all but the most devastating attacks, and only magic and Quicksilver pierced it. Or, someone could attacked it from behind, where none of its armor was.

And so Allister Dunadain, fourth son of Viscount Roger Dunadain and current Good Hunter of the Dream, once more flayed the butt of a pig with his grandfather's Threaded Cane.

He offered a silent prayer of forgiveness towards his beloved grandpa as the Blood Echoes poured in.

Now that the boar was dead, he could take a look around the area he was in.

He had discovered a strange Chalice Dungeon buried beneath the lowest levels of Mensis' old headquarters, and proceeded to enter it. Immediately he was assailed by several armored boars and what appeared to be large lumps of animated blue crystal and men with the bodies of snakes.

Perhaps they were the origin of those strange snake-monsters he had seen in the woods around the area? That would make sense if Mensis' "geniuses" had tried to experiment with the inhabitants of this dungeon and their work got loose.

What truly astonished Allister was the fact that this Chalice Dungeon was a library. It was filled with countless books, most of them rotted to nothing on the shelves, but several tomes still remained, preserved in chunks of crystal or within glasses cases and treasure chests.

Here and there great clusters of shimmering crystals dotted the area, sealing some parts off entirely. It was as if a geyser had erupted then instantly frozen in several spots the crystal formations were so large, misshapen, yet elegant.

Revolving stairs and assorted mechanical wonders also could be seen, and Allister wondered if this was where the inventions he had seen in Yharnam had been copied from.

Now, however, he came to a chamber almost completely bathed in opaque crystal. Sitting at the far end was a pedestal upon which a book had been placed. It seemed intact, but was guarded by a large Golden Crystal Golem.

Allister tensed, then sprang into action as it barreled towards him. He leapt aside from its wild swinging arms which struck the ground, causing pillars of jagged crystal to burst forth.

He aimed and fired his Evelyn pistol, staggering it. He then darted forward and swung his Threaded Cane, striking at its joints. Had he a larger weapon he could have simply smashed the golem to pieces. Instead, he was forced to rip its limbs apart so it was immobilized. Then, he dropped a rock on its head. Destroying it like all the others he had encountered.

It perished and offered no Blood Echoes, annoyingly, but the crystalline material seemed fairly precious and radiated an unknown energy, so he pocketed several large chunks for study. Perhaps they could make excellent bullets or upgrade materials!

Foe vanquished, he approached the dias where the tome lay. The cover was made of gold, and elegant images of flames decorated it. He cautiously opened it, revealing the interior.

He gaped in shock. Someone had made the pages out of gold! Each one was made of finely pressed and polished gold, the words etched into the surface and filled in with black ink. He could not recognize the language, but there were numerous diagrams and it seemed to be a combination of a diary and a scientific journal.

One page detailed a wyvern-like beast, dissected and its assorted parts labeled. Another had both versions of the snakemen and a new one that seemed female, but had tentacles for hair and the lower-half of a serpent.

A picture of a trident-wielding man with a six-eyed helmet gave Allister pause, and he wondered if that head cage-thing the Mensis members had worn had been inspired by this item.

Near the back the script became more erratic, and eventually devolved into scribbles. Then, a new author seemed to pick up the pen, as their words were steadier but noticeably different from the last man's writing.

These words had a faint ember glow to them, and Allister quickly snapped the book shut, afraid of being drawn too deep into the glittering words upon the pages.

He still took the grimoire, and hastily exited the Chalice Dungeon. This warranted some investigation. What could be so precious and mystical that he'd needed 100 insight just to find this place?

.

Outside of the library shaped Chalice Dungeon Allister tore through the notes of the various scholars of the facility. There was little on the mysterious dungeon, and what he could find had belonged to the department heads.

At last he had swallowed his bile and broken into Micolash's personal study and rooted through the blasphemous texts within. After hours of searching and throwing up a half dozen times from the horrors the mad head of Mensis had written of, he finally found what he was looking for:

A book entitled "Lordinium to Yharnam, how it all came to be," a translation guide for the ancient language in the golden tome, and several notes by Micolash.

'What we have here is proof, actual proof!, that the mythical Empire of Flames, Lordinium, as the fables call it, existed! Not only that, but it was here, right where Yharnam is now located! Here is the source of an ancient power that seems to have been coveted by the Old Ones. We believe our very own research facility is built on the ruins of a notable site, but cannot access it due to a strange power that keeps us at bay.'

'We managed to uncover a way into the ruins! Using the newly developed Chalice Dungeons, we have pieced a hole into whatever mystical barrier kept it hidden and intact all these years. Interestingly, it seems that the Church's vaunted Blood Ministrations are useless within this space, and anyone who has had one cannot enter lest they suffer lesions and burns all over their body.'

'This place is amazing! It is a library, filled with wondrous knowledge! We have begun rudimentary examinations and tentative translations of the few surviving texts, and already we have learned so much! Not to mention some engineers are over the moon for the machinery and devices it employs. It is guarded by unnatural beasts, though. Snakes that walk like men, boars that are armored in their own bones, and sentient lumps of crystal impede us at every turn.'

Allister flipped through it all, until he came to the last entry in Micolash's journal in regards to this dungeon.

'I don't believe it. It seems impossible, but we have found a golden tome that has revealed to us the very nature of the soul, and how to use it. Those snake-men? Human-reptile hybrids. The boars? Pigs enhanced with the souls of so-called 'dragons.' The golems? Raw souls transmuted into a solid substance! And there's more! Details on how to absorb souls for nourishment lies in here, alongside the methods to moving souls from one body to another. Not to mention we have finally uncovered vital facts about the Old Ones, how to contact them, and how to fuse their essence with mortals! Those fools in the Church have been wrong this whole time! The answer was never in the stars, but below us! We can become like the legendary God-Kings of old! Immortality is in our grasps!'

The rest was smudged and ruined, but the information within stunned Allister. Souls were real. Not just metaphysical or anything, but actually tangible! No wonder Micolash went mad, he meddled in that which was not meant to be touched!

But the words gave him pause. The old leader of Mensis claimed that the secrets to moving and manipulating souls was within the pages of the tome he now held.

A thought he had long fought to keep from thinking about pushed its way forward.

"Could I give Doll her own body?"

The doll. His companion. His teacher. His, dare he say it, lover. She loved him unconditionally, cared for him and tended his wounds. He would not lie and say he had not fallen in love with her. But he could never be with her.

But now, he had a lead. A way that could give him what they both craved. And it did not lie in the sick, twisted miracles of false gods and moon-starved abominations.

He gripped the tome tight. He had his answers, now. And, he had hope. The most terrible of poisons.

~/~/~

 _ **Author's note: Well, here's the last of the omakes that'll be going up on this story! From now on, they'll all be on their dedicated story, "Keeping the Hearth Warm."**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed them regardless, and that you keep liking my work!**_


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